Through The Silence Of Fireflies
by plumbobjo
Summary: Brendan stays vigilant after Walker's threats to his loved ones but he could never have foreseen what was about to happen. Walker tries to take away something Brendan loves very much and sets in motion a chain of events that have the potential to change both their lives forever. Stendan, list of warnings inside, very hard M.
1. how can your absence leave no trace

Warnings: Drugging, violence, some gore, explicit sexual situations, non-major character death, mentions of domestic abuse and physical and sexual abuse of a child. Also slightly pervier-than-canon Walker, just in case that needed a warning.

Notes (**important!**): A little exposition on where the events of the fic fit in since this is obviously AU now. It's set three weeks after Brendan asks Ste to discharge him from the hospital and Walker threatens him in the flat, assuming that Walker vanishes immediately after that to bide his time and none of the gun and Declan shenanigans take place. It's also a rewrite of some events within the show that I've altered to fit the story, since this is a WIP and will be ongoing for a while. Stug friendship only, no romance between them whatsoever.

Title and lyrics below taken from the song Baltimore's Fireflies by the amazing Woodkid. Beautiful song and it suits them so perfectly.

Shiny new story cover is a picture drawn by teiubesc8 on tumblr (can't post urls here) and inspired by this fic. Her art is _amazing_ and you should swing by and give her other stuff a look. Thanks so much for letting me use the picture, honey!

* * *

_What is the price, am I supposed to pay?_

_For all the things I try to hide?_

_What is my fate, am I supposed to pray?_

_That trouble's gone with the sunlight?_

Ste could swear he's only had two drinks. Two drinks and the SU Bar is spinning around him like he's accidentally stumbled onto some waltzers. He edges out of the bathroom and looks around trying to spot Doug or Leanne or Texas but he can't see anything but the glowing green of the exit and he needs some air badly or he's going to run out.

He pitches out of the double doors and over to the railings to lean and just breathe.

"Hey mate, are you alright?" he hears a concerned voice behind him.

"Think I just drank too much," Ste slurs, the words coming out thick and slow. His vision is fuzzing black at the edges and he blinks rapidly to clear it.

"You really don't look so good, let me help."

He feels the strong arm of someone taller than him fit around his waist and he grips his hand into the fabric of the man's jacket. His voice sounds familiar.

They get down the steps and onto the street and Ste feels unease creep into his muddled brain but he can barely walk right now let alone think straight so he concentrates on not tripping instead.

"Right, I'm gonna need you to keep your balance there for just a second," they've stopped and the stranger has propped him up against a dark coloured car. Even stationery with something to lean on he's unsteady and he slides down until his arse hits the ground and he can rest his head on his knees. He squints around, it's dark, really dark; no street lights or buildings close by at all.

"Get up mate, come on," he's hauled up by his shoulders until he's practically being embraced. He looks up and squints into a face and he _knows _this guy and he really doesn't feel good about this.

"I-I need to- g-get, get back," he can hardly form words he's that drunk _twodrinksreally?_ and the stranger smiles at him like he's a funny puppy and he feels insulted and frustrated.

He feels like he's in danger.

Then the man slides a hand up his neck to his cheek and strokes his thumb underneath his eye and then he _knows_ he is. Ste panics; pushes the guy with all the force he has and it obviously catches him off guard because he reels back a good distance; enough for Ste to edge his way to the bonnet of the car and get his legs steady.

He's too clumsy though, too slow to move because he feels hands grab his shoulders from behind and he's pulled flush against his attackers chest.

"Now that's gratitude for you. A man tries to be noble and help out a person in distress and it's thrown back in his face?" he murmurs into Ste's neck, warm and damp; makes a humming noise like satisfaction.

"What do you want?" adrenaline has sharpened him a little bit and he realises with a painful shock that he's been drugged. Whoever this man is he isn't fucking about and Ste's potentially about to get seriously hurt.

"Don't worry, this isn't about you. You just behave, son, and you won't get hurt."

He tries to steady his breathing. He knows attempting a struggle is pointless until whatever drugs he's been slipped wear off so all he can do is try to calm down. He isn't getting away right now. Doesn't doubt the guy has a weapon on him somewhere either.

The man behind him can obviously feel his body relax and he's rewarded a pat on the chest.

"Good boy," he says softly, "get in the car."

He does as he's told with some assistance and the door's shut firmly and finally after him. He's trapped now, still can't even see straight no matter how much he tries to blink away the haze covering his eyes so he shuts them and leans his head back against the headrest. He feels the creeping darkness of unconsciousness pulling at him and he tries so hard to fight it but it's no use. He's out before the stranger has even gotten into the driver's seat.

* * *

Ste wakes up once, opens one eye and tries to focus on the view out of the car window he's resting his head against but everything's moving too fast so he shuts it away.

* * *

He awakens again when the car comes to a stop and he's jostled forward slightly, his hands coming up slowly like they're moving through treacle to press against the dashboard.

He jumps slightly as the passenger door opens and he's looking up at the man who has actually now kidnapped him, officially. The guy's shrouded in darkness and Ste's brain is melting and he _knows_ him, it's _right there_ but it keeps trickling through his fingers like water.

He cannot believe this insane situation he's in; he has the urge to pinch himself because who in the world has ever been this unlucky? He wishes he had his faculties about him so he could at least roll his eyes.

"Come on now, up we get," the man cuts him off, pulling his arm around his shoulders and gathering him close with surprising gentleness; supporting his weight again while he closes the door. Then they're stumbling up the path and into a house that looks very average and nothing like the blood stained torture dungeon he was half-expecting. If anyone was watching they would have looked like two drunken friends staggering home together after a night on the lash.

They're in a small, dark entrance hall with some stairs leading up and a door to his left and Ste tries to take in his surroundings, to fix them in his brain in case he has a chance of getting out. He's guided through a large living room and then into a kitchen-dining room where he's plonked down at a table. The lights in here are too bright and Ste feels like he's going to be sick, folds his arms on the table and buries his face in them. His head pounds and the whole room tumbles violently around him and the feeling of helplessness is excruciating.

He hears the man shouting something from the doorway. It's not directed at him and his heart sinks because that means there's someone else here.

Ste thinks he must have drifted off again because suddenly his head's been pulled up roughly by his hair and he's looking into the appraising face of a blonde woman.

"This will work?" she asks and that's not directed at him either, "you're positive?"

"Yeah I'm sure," the guy says from somewhere behind him, "he'll do anything for this one."

"Well sort it out quickly then, the quicker it's dealt with the easier I'll breathe," she let's go of him and walks away and his head is reeling because even though his thoughts are as clear as a murky puddle, he's pretty sure he knows who this guy's talking about. He should have fucking known.

He's so angry all of a sudden that he smacks his fist into the table. "Brendan!?"

It's stupid and he shouldn't have given himself away like that but he's not thinking clearly and his frustration bubbles over, out of his control. Suddenly two hands are planted firmly on the table at either side of him and the man's body is leaning heavily against his back for the second time tonight.

"I told you this wasn't about you," says the _sofamiliar_ voice right into his ear, "I also said behave. Can you do that? Or will I have to teach you a lesson?"

He swallows thickly and nods. A face flashes before his eyes, tall and slender, sharp features and dirty blond hair, sat around Brendan's dining table, walking through the village.

"Good." He's hauled up again, this time with his arms held behind his back, and pushed firmly back into the entrance hall and up the stairs. Ste counts five doors on the upstairs landing and he's shoved through one to the left. The door's locked behind him.

He stands in the middle of the room for a moment breathing in painful, stuttering bursts and then he's frantically checking all his pockets. He'd known before he'd tried that his phone would be gone but he still can't help the stab of despair at finding it true.

The rooms large and nicely furnished; big double bed, matching white wood wardrobes and unit. There's a door to what looks like an en suite on the wall next to him and, opposite, a large window with the curtains still open. He goes over to it shakily, leaning on the furniture and trying not to sway or fall.

It overlooks a garden surrounded by thick bushes and beyond that nothing but fields. No neighbouring houses he could signal to for help. Glass double glazed and the bits that open out both too small for a person to fit through and locked to boot.

He turns and makes his way into the en suite. Turns the cold tap on at the sink and splashes water on his face, cups his hands and drinks some to ease the sandpaper scratch of his throat. It makes his stomach roil until he has to lean his hands on the enamel and breathe deeply to stop it coming back up again. He looks up and is startled by his reflection.

He's very, very pale and his pupils are blown so wide his eyes look like slicks of black oil. He looks like a stoned ghost.

He knows he needs to lie down before he falls down, drugs still coursing through his system, on top of the fact that he's been awake for nearly 20 hours, making him tired and weak. He's fought it for as long as he can but can recognise his legs shaking under his weight as a sign that it's useless and destructive. He has two children who need their daddy to be sensible and there's no room for stubborn bravado right now. He lies down on the bed and is passed out in seconds.


	2. sleep softly, leave me no room for doubt

__Title and lyrics taken from the song No Room For Doubt by Lianne La Havas.

* * *

_i know you know_

_that this way leads me out_

_outside, too bright_

_you're within, i'm without_

"Wake up sunshine."

Ste's groggy as Hell and completely ready to punch whoever the fuck is shaking him right now. He throws his arm out and it connects with a body. He gets a smack in the face for his trouble and it does wonders to bring him fully back to consciousness.

"Wha?" he's blinking and trying to sit up but there's two strong arms holding him down by his wrists. He's still confused and his cheek is throbbing and then the person above him comes into focus and he remembers slowly where he is and what happened last night. He stills in the man's grip, tries to look pacifying by spreading the fingers of his pinned hands like he's surrendering.

Brendan's weird mate Walker.

Brendan's weird mate Walker who he didn't phone to pick him up from the hospital, who Ste hadn't seen around in weeks.

"Why?" is all he can manage to choke out, high-pitched and panicked.

"It'll all become clear, don't worry," is his cryptic answer. Don't worry, nice one.

Ste's heart pounds frantic as Walker pushes his trapped hands further above his head so he can lay one arm across them both. He rubs a thumb over the pulse point in one of his wrists; trails his hand down, gathering the sleeve of his shirt as he goes and starts kneading the soft skin at the inside of his elbow.

He makes a sad tutting noise and then without warning pulls out what Ste sees for a fraction of a second to be a hypodermic needle, before sticking it right in his arm and releasing the plunger.

"A little something so that I don't have to worry about you."

He's going on pure instinct when he kicks up hard and knees Walker in the back but it's no use. The drug's in him now and even though Walker's slightly winded from the blow it just makes him lean his weight more heavily on Ste until he stops struggling as lassitude overtakes him.

"Good boy," Walker croons. He gets up and heads to the door, "I'll give them a few more hours to worry about you and then we can get down to business. Brendan called by the way, so someone must be savvy enough to have pinned your disappearance on him."

He snorts gracelessly from the bed.

"Everyone in the village y'mean?" the drugs are making him feel stupid.

Walker actually laughs.

"Good, keep that humour. You're gonna need it, I think."

* * *

Ste lies on the bed slipping in and out of consciousness for what feels like forever. His dreams are terrifying snatches of dark shapes and agonised sounds and when he awakes he hallucinates the same but worse. The shapes are people and they're screaming at him, telling him he's going to die and his children are crying and there's nothing he can do to comfort them because he's already dead.

There's a cool, comforting sensation across his face and it feels so wonderful that he moans. He flutters his eyes open and tries to focus.

"Hello, blue eyes," there's a face surrounded by a halo of light. Great, he is actually dead.

The face is muttering what sounds like nonsense at him.

"...far too much... different when it's injected... aren't you lovely..."

"Alice get out."

Ste struggles further into lucidity at the familiar voice. Walker. Not dead then, although not a huge improvement.

The woman he assumes is Alice is glaring in the direction of the door. She has a damp cloth in her hand, gets up and throws it irritably at Walker. They share some whispered words that he can't make out and the door slams shut.

He feels out his body as Walker makes his way over, realises he's seriously burning up and every limb feels heavy and unresponsive. The rise and fall of his chest feels laborious.

"The missus?" he croaks out.

"In a manner of speaking. Sorry, by the way," he says, sitting beside him like he's keeping vigil over a sick friend, "I might have, slightly, given you a tiny overdose."

"Oh, is that all?"

Evidently Walker won't be tolerating any of his good 'humour today' because he's suddenly licking warm blood from his freshly split lip.

"I said sorry, Steven," his whole body shudders at Walker using his name like that, "it's not polite to throw an apology back in someone's face."

He stares down at him expectantly.

"O-okay, yeah," he says in a shaking voice. Quick as a flash Walker's got his hands tight round his throat and he's leaning in close.

"That's not very sincere."

"It's okay," he wheezes out, clawing at Walker's arms ineffectually because he's ODing on fucking rohypnol or fuck knows what and he's so weak. Ste's vision blurs as his eyes start to water and then everything starts to turn dark. He thinks 'I'm going to die' and experiences a terror so powerful and all-encompassing that it blocks out every other sensation, even the painful grip of Walker's hands as they choke his last breath from him.

Then they cease and he drags in lungfulls of air, his hands flying out to grip something, _anything_, closing in on Walker's forearms as he trails the tips of his fingers across Ste's sore neck gently before sliding them up to the sides of his face and into his hair. Then he's leaning in and placing a small kiss on his lips.

Ste's still breathless and now reeling in shock; bracing himself for something worse, another kiss or another punch and even drugged and half unconscious the irony is not lost on him.

"Good boy, keep on behaving yourself and everything will be fine," Walker smiles at him with what looks like genuine affection and Ste doesn't know if he's just trying to put him on edge or if he's actually insane. He thinks maybe he should redefine his definition of unpredictable, change out his mental dictionary picture from Brendan to Walker.

"Now here's what's going to happen. We're going to have a chat and then we're going to make a phone call. How's that sound?"

"Sounds good," he rasps out through his bruised windpipe.

"Good," Walker raises the hand with the washcloth in it, pats it over his hot forehead and says, quite sheepishly, by way of explanation, "you're burning up from the drugs but it's okay, I'll be more careful next time."

Ste eyes close involuntarily and he lets out a whimper, _next time._

"Shhhh, look at me I need to know you can understand what I'm asking you."

He drags his heavy eyelids open and tries to focus. He needs to stay calm and give Walker what he wants. He isn't going to give this psycho any more reason to hurt him.

"Good. Right, first question," Walker continues to dab the cool cloth over his face and it helps, "how long were you and Brendan together?"

Now _that_ he wasn't expecting. Ste knows he's scrunching his face up because he can't have heard that right surely? But Walker's chuckling under his breath and looking at him knowingly.

He's suddenly struggling to sit up, sick of this vulnerable position he's stuck in. Walker, the bastard, actually helps him to prop himself against the headboard.

"What? I don't know - " he rushes out without thinking because he's still a little dumbfounded by the question and he knows immediately that's the wrong answer. He startles violently as Walker slams his hand into the headboard right next to his head and he frantically stumbled over his words to appease him. "No, that's not - I _really_ don't know. It wasn't like a proper relationship!"

Walker scrutinises him for a moment like he can sense lies or something, a human polygraph.

"So you were just fucking?"

"No, it was more than that," he blurts out, far too quickly again, far too much like a protest and he's giving too much away because Walker keeps blind-siding him and he's reeling too much to get a grip on anything solid.

"So how long were you two fucking and more?" Walker asks sardonically.

"Umm," and now he has to think hard because he can't even classify what their relationship _was_ let alone when it started and ended... and started. And ended. "Almost a year, on and off."

"What do you mean by on and off?" Walker fires off, fast as a bullet. He'd make a great police officer, Ste thinks abstractly. The village could do with one of them.

He feels a little more prepared this time, though, tries to gauge how much detail to give because even though he absolutely is not going to get himself killed here, Ste does feel enough loyalty to Brendan to want to protect him against yet another person who's trying to hurt him.

"He was trying to hide it," he stops but Walker looks expectant so he goes on, "couldn't admit that he was gay so we argued a lot."

"Argued?"

"Argued, broke up, whatever you wanna call it."

"Just arguing?"

He thinks he must be hallucinating again because there's no way Brendan told Walker about that part of their relationship, surely.

"Like I said, arguing and breaking up," he says tentatively but knows immediately he's said the wrong thing as Walker's face darkens.

"Really? Because I've heard a few rumours around town, idle chit chat probably but I'd like to run it by you anyway," he says intently, "good looking boy, shame he's always getting in fights, black eyes and cut lips but then people find out about him and the local nutjob and it all comes out - literally."

He chuckles at his own little joke and looks at Ste expectantly for a moment.

"Okay, I'll go on. Turns out he's a battered boyfriend, a coincidence as it happens but people feel sorry for him regardless of his past. The abuser becomes the abused."

"Alright!" Ste has to stop him, each word piercing more holes in his already shattered armour, "yeah it's true, he used to hit me. If you already knew why ask?"

Walker seems to let that outburst slide in favour of actually answering him. "I have to admit I didn't actually believe it until you just said it, I find the village to be a place filled mostly with idiots spewing ignorant gossip. I'm disappointed, I suppose."

Ste thinks he actually looks it too.

"The guy who's kidnapped me is disappointed?" Ste asks, doesn't even try to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Brendan talks a big game about protecting the people he cares about, it was the only thing I respected about him," Walker answers with a shrug. "So he abused you, yet you were still on and off?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" Walker asks eagerly as if they're getting down to the real point of all this, "why go back to him?"

A lie is going to sound like just that. Why do you go back to someone who hurts you time and time again? There's no other answer he can give but he can't bear to say it. His body is physically rejecting it and he turns his head away from Walker and his stupid, magical, healing cloth.

"Answer the question, last warning." He grabs Ste's face roughly and pulls him back to face him.

"I loved him."

Walker smiles triumphant and Ste feels like he's been flayed, every nerve ending exposed, because he's not just physically vulnerable here anymore. Walker's picking at scars he's desperate to pretend have healed and he can feel the blood start to flow. Any more digging and he's going to have to examine that wound and he already knows he's not ready to face what's under there.

"And did he love you?"

"Brendan can't love anyone," he says quickly, too quickly.

"Some people might believe that. I know you're not one of those people, Ste."

"Why do you care?" there are tears in his eyes and he hadn't even cried up until now but he's exhausted and weak and his heart is throbbing like a bruise.

"How about this? You answer my question, honestly, and then I'll answer yours."

He sniffs and rubs his hands over his face, he refuses to look as destroyed as he feels when he says this.

"Yes, he loved me," the words feel like they're wrenched out of him and suddenly he _aches_ for Brendan, wants to see his stupid mustache and his stupid face more than he wants to see a full on police rescue squad.

Walker nods thoughtfully.

"I care because everything I'm doing here depends on that one fact. I'm going to tell you something important now so listen carefully," he leans in closer like they're sharing a secret, "someone like Brendan, someone who needs control over everything, someone who plays his cards close to his chest and pretends not to need another soul in the world; they're the easiest people to break. You just have to know their weak spot. In this case it happens to be you."

"So, what? You're gonna kill me to just to fuck with Brendan?" he asks hysterically, feels goosebumps break out on his skin despite his soaring temperature.

Walker gives him a slow smile and for a panicked second Ste thinks he's hit the nail on the head.

"No son, I'm no murderer," he says breezily, "I need a little favour from Brendan and you happen to be my bargaining chip."

"What, you say jump and you think Brendan's actually gonna do it!?"

"He'd do anything for you, Ste," Walker states like it's _fact._

"Maybe a long time ago but you don't know that now!" his voice is high-pitched and cracking and it's killing his throat.

"Shut up," and Ste does, with some difficulty - instinct to stay alive just marginally outweighing his ingrained need to waffle. "After everything he's done you still rush to his aid, even when he acts like he doesn't want it and you don't think he'd do the same for you? Even when your life depended on it?"

Ste stays silent, doesn't like to think too closely about what Brendan might or might not be feeling regarding himself. He doesn't have the strength to untangle that mess at the best of times.

"That's pretty messed up. You really are just another victim of Brendan Brady, aren't you?" Walker says softly, voice all pity and righteous anger, "I'm sorry," and he looks it.

"Don't call me that, don't talk about us like you've got us all sussed out, who the _fuck _are you?" Ste asks hysterically, more freaked out by Walker's behaviour now than when he was throttling him and his smug, all-knowing attitude is making him angry. How many more people feel the need to come and make assumptions at him about their messed up relationship, like he's too stupid to understand, like they could ever know Brendan _better_ than Ste does.

"I'm someone who could have helped you," he says after a moment's consideration, calm in the face of Ste's rage, "but that was a long time ago, too. I'm not a bad person, Ste. I'm just doing what I have to do. I know you can understand that."

"Bit hard to understand in my position," he says without thinking, hates that Walker's trying to play nice while Ste's drugged and locked up at his mercy.

"Hmm, well understand this then," Walker says seriously, "Brendan _will_ do this, and he will do it because he loves you. Not _loved._ Actually loves you. I'm not telling you this to fuck with your head, Ste. I think you deserve to know. I think it's way more important to you than you let on."

In a second all the anger drains out of him and Ste just shakes his head tiredly, doesn't even ask how Walker knows this, why people keep telling him this like it's _just that simple_. It's never been that simple for them and nobody will _ever_ understand that. He's hazy with drugs, emotionally drained and aching all over - he can't take much more.

Walker seems to sense it and he's looking at Ste softly with something close to regret.

"Let's make that phone call."

He pulls what Ste recognises as his own phone out his pocket.

"It's more poetic," he shrugs and finds Brendan's number, "you speak when I tell you, got it?"

He nods and Walker presses call.

Brendan picks up in a matter of seconds and Ste hears his muffled voice as Walker lets him speak to himself for a while before finally bringing the phone to his ear.

"Brendan," he says brightly and after a moment, "yeah it's me, not surprised? Oh, I'm looking at him now. Yes, he's alive. Nothing that won't heal. Idle threats Brendan, we both know you're going to do whatever I ask right now so let's just stop the posturing. Okay, hang on."

Walker switches on the speakerphone and Ste can _finally _hear Brendan and he's so overwhelmed by it that he feels like he's gone back in time, back to when that voice meant everything.

"Steven?" he sounds honestly wrecked and Ste can't even speak past the lump in his throat. He's lost in some huge tidal wave of emotion until he feels a sharp pain across his face and realises Walker just slapped him and is now gesturing impatiently. What happened to the pity?

"Brendan yeah, I'm here," he says through his abused throat, voice sounding like sandpaper scraping across gravel.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine. What about Amy? The kids?" he asks the question he's been desperate to for hours, his dreams filled with a million awful things that could have happened to them, his waking stupor the same. Even though he knows now that all this is nothing to do with him, he still can't help but be afraid.

"They're fine, Steven, I've made sure they're okay. Don't worry," Brendan answers quickly, knows how important it is.

"Thanks, thank you," he can breathe much easier now like the crushing grip of fear has loosened from his lungs slightly. He trusts Brendan when he says he'll look after his family, trusts him to carry on looking after them even if something happens to him.

"Well this is touching but I'm afraid this isn't a social call Brendan," Walker interrupts but his expression belies his words because he looks very much interested. "I need something from you."

"What?" Brendan asks straight away, sounds like Walker could ask him to build a rocket and bring him back some moon rock and Brendan would get right on it. "Wait, not in front of Steven."

Walker raises his eyebrows at him for a moment, looks considering. Ste shrugs, doesn't care what it is he asks. Brendan's done worse to protect him already and Ste got over that quickly enough to be somewhat concerned about his own sanity. After hearing his voice, Ste doesn't doubt now that Brendan will do what Walker wants.

"Okay," Walker says into the phone slowly, looks curious at Ste's lack of reaction.

"Steven, don't worry okay? I'm gonna get you out of this, you're gonna be fine I promise. You have to trust me okay?" he sounds filled completely with grim resolution.

"I do," Ste replies and he finds, for the first time in a long time, it's absolutely true.


	3. what will it take to believe i can run

Title and lyrics from the song Worry Walks Beside Me by Michael Kiwanuka.

* * *

_how does it feel to be flying away_

_how does it feel to believe today_

He doesn't get to hear what Walker needs from Brendan because he leaves the room to continue their conversation. He returns some indeterminate amount of time later with a bowl of something hot and a bottle of water. It's still light out but at this point Ste finds the passage of time meaningless.

"I figure your stomach probably isn't up to food right now but I'd feel a bit better about drugging you again if you'd eaten something," Walker says as if there's nothing at all weird about that sentence. "Are you steady enough to do this yourself? I don't mind playing nursemaid."

Ste looks at him blankly and he chuckles.

"Can't, I'll be sick."

There's no way he can imagine putting anything thicker than water in him right now, the thought makes his stomach roil. Whatever Walker's dosing him with is making him nauseous and tender.

"We'll go slowly." He sits once more beside Ste on the bed, helps him into a sitting position and hands him the bowl. It looks and smells like minestrone soup. He gips but knows Walker's right, he needs to keep his strength up. Plus he knows he's getting roofied no matter what happens so he can at least try do what he can to keep from being overdosed again.

Ste grabs the spoon and brings it, shaking, up to his mouth. He takes a deep breath and swallows but even though it's runny and he's prepared, it still feels like hot lead in his stomach and Ste can't help but moan.

"Shhh, just breathe through it and it'll stay down. Breathe." Walker's rubbing his hand soothingly on his shoulder and Ste hates him so much right now for putting him through this and actually being nice about it. He thinks he might have preferred the creepy villain stuff, the soft touches and kind words are messing with his head.

The soup stays put and after a minute he tries for another, then another. He manages half the bowl before he has to stop but Walker seems pleased regardless.

"Good boy," he strokes his hand through Ste's hair softly, "not long now. It'll all be over soon."

He pulls out the needle and feels for a vein. It takes him a few tries this time and Ste cringes through the sharp pain feeling frustrated and hopeless. He feels the drug flood his senses once again, limbs going heavy and room tilting violently. The shadows in his vision crystallise into sharp clarity.

He almost wants to beg Walker to stay, to not leave him alone with the man who looks like Doug stood at the foot of the bed running his finger across his throat or the bodies of his children staring up at him from the floor wide eyed and frightened. With Amy, mouth wide open in a silent scream on the bed next to him. He doesn't, however, and Walker locks the door behind him. Ste's left alone once again with his nightmares.

* * *

He feels time pass in short bursts then long, yawning chasms. For hours he's floating in a fog of displaced emotions; direction-less fear and tightly strung tension. He feels the adrenaline coursing through him acutely, heart racing and poised on the edge of his fight or flight response but he can't fight imaginary monsters and there's nowhere to run even if he could.

After a long while everything quiets and all Ste can hear is the sound of his own laboured breathing and rushing blood.

He slowly becomes aware of his surroundings. The hallucinations have faded and he has a headache on par with the worst hangover he can remember. He gets to his feet feeling steadier than he has in the past day, realises the drugs must be wearing off. Walker's been too cautious this time and not given him enough. He can actually think straight, finally.

He shuffles into the bathroom, runs the tap until the water's freezing cold and scoops handfuls of it to splash at his face. He takes a few small sips of it and cringes as it chills his insides but he feels better for it all the same.

He goes back out into the bedroom and switches on the light, squints until his vision adjusts, and gets to scrutinising everything in there for something, _anything_, he might be able to use to give him an advantage.

It's dark outside, obviously late. Whatever favour Brendan's been corralled into doing for Walker will presumably be happening tonight, maybe even right now. He might not have long before Walker comes back to deliver his fate, for better or worse.

There's hardly anything on any surface of the room, just a vase on the windowsill and some decorative bowls filled with pot pourri on the long wooden unit opposite the bed. He supposes he could whack Walker over the head with the vase and make a run for it but he probably wouldn't get very far through the house let alone what he'd do if he managed to get outside. For all Ste knows the entire neighbourhood is full of crazy, kidnapping lunatics.

As quietly as he can manage, Ste opens each drawer in the unit and carefully examines the contents. It's mostly towels, spare sheets and, bizarrely, about 60 packets of Christmas cards. Walker and Alice have done a good job of child-proofing the place.

Except in one he finds a small sewing kit that looks like it's been pinched from a hotel room. There's still a needle inside it and he takes it out, threads it through the cuff of his Carter & Hay shirt. If push comes to shove he has no qualms about embedding it in Walker's face.

There's a creak of stairs outside the door and Ste's heart sinks; he shakes himself out of it, tries not to panic and freeze. He closes the drawer quietly and creeps back to the bed, lies down, takes deep steadying breaths and tries not to look guilty when the door swings open.

He meets Walker's flushed and too bright gaze.

"It's showtime."


	4. the road is long, we carry on

Warnings: This chapter contains brief allusions to the sexual abuse of a child by characters using upsetting and trivialising language. The words do not reflect my own attitudes, I absolutely know that the subject matter is serious and horrific.

This is a long chapter, there really was no place I could find to split it!

Title and lyrics from the song Born To Die by Lana Del Rey, possibly the ultimate Stendan song?

* * *

_sometimes love is not enough_

_and the road gets tough_

_i don't know why_

Brendan peers around at the grey walls, movement calming his jittering nerves, and makes shapes with his mouth to make his misting breath dance.

Every part of his body is tense and itching for a fight. He hasn't slept in about 36 hours and he's running on pure adrenaline. He's been holding a million emotions tightly at bay since the frantic phone call he got at half past eleven last night.

_"Is Ste with you?" straight of the bat, not even a hello._

_"Hello there, Douglas, I do so enjoy our conversation. No he's not, why?" he asks, hasn't heard from Steven since he checked in at the deli this afternoon._

_"He was with us in the SU Bar and now he's disappeared. Hes not answering his phone, I called Cheryl and she hasn't seen him either," Doug tells him frantically, voice strained, "he's not at home, he's not at the deli - "_

_"Douglas, shut up, he's not with me," he says sharply, tries to steady his shaking hands while he signals to Rhys behind the bar. "Where are you?"_

_"At my flat, why?" _

_"Where was Cheryl when you spoke to her?"_

_"She's here with me now, what's goin' on Brendan?"_

_"I'm coming over, stay put, tell Cheryl to stay put," and with that he cuts the call, tells Rhys to watch the place for the rest of the night and bolts for the exit._

Brendan checks his watch and tries to ignore the patch of red staining his white shirt sleeve. 23:25, that was twenty-four hours ago. Now he's waiting in a cold warehouse under harsh spotlights flanked by two heavy set guys in dark clothes that he's assuming are Walker's protection. He hasn't been able to gauge whether they're hired help or actual associates, doesn't know if it might end up being important.

He thinks about saying something witty to piss them off but his heart really isn't in it.

The room they're in is huge and echoing; cold, stale air that smells so strongly metallic that he can taste it, like sucking on a penny. The floor's uneven concrete and it slopes under his feet, rises and falls like waves on water. Broken boxes line the walls, empty crates with damp, moulding wood, split and warped into twisted shapes, teeth and claws. The whole place is ugly, right down to its current purpose; to exchange a person like a commodity, nothing more than a transaction. At least that's what he hopes.

After what feels like hours a vehicle pulls up outside, car doors opening and closing and something like a scuffle.

It takes until he sees Walker pushing Steven through the front door before Brendan realises he's been holding his breath. He feels dizzy like he's hallucinating but it's a beautiful hallucination if it is. He'd been so frightened that Walker was going to bring him a body, make good on the promise he'd made after Southport.

Walker has the gall to smile at him as he throws Steven to his knees between them and Brendan makes an aborted jerk forward before he's grabbed from both sides by Walker's heavies. His fingers itch to touch, to hold and comfort.

"Steven, are you okay?" he asks instead, keeps his voice calm and hopes it offers some assurance.

Brendan sees him swallow, sees the dark bruising colouring the pale skin of his throat and the split in his lip, hears the rough scratch of his voice as he rasps out the words "I'm fine," and Brendan can see blatantly that he really isn't. His eyes are wide and haunted and his breathing is quick and shallow. His arms are secured behind his back.

Brendan takes a minute to compose himself before he looks at Walker, before he even dares take his eyes of what's important in case he loses himself and subsequently his rationality. Steven, on his knees, bruised and bleeding, reminds him how delicate the situation is, reminds him of everything he stands to lose.

"Walker," Brendan gives him a short nod. "I did what you wanted."

"Yeah, you did, didn't you?" Walker muses, something bright and wicked twinkling in his eyes, "for this little runt?"

Brendan winces, feels stupid for ever saying it when he knew for a fact that Walker was too smart, too observant to believe him. He'd had Brendan made for months.

"It's funny, when I first met you I thought that nothing could penetrate that shell. Then I came here and saw how you looked after your baby sister, how you took Joel under your wing, how you suffered for Ste," he pauses, strokes his hand through Steven's hair before continuing, "and I realised how easy it was gonna be."

"I did what you asked, Walker," Brendan says again, slower this time, through gritted teeth. "You're wasting everyone's time with all this monologuing."

"Nice try, Brendan, but we're far from finished yet," he says with a breathy laugh, gripping Steven's hair roughly and pulling his head back, throwing the bruises on his throat into stark relief against the harsh lights. He bends down, puts his mouth to Steven's ear and says softly, "I'm going to tell you some things you didn't know about Brendan, Ste."

"Walker, please," he hears himself begging, unable to stop the words tumbling out, desperation loosening his tongue.

Steven glances at up at him sharply, looks grim when he says, steadily, "I doubt you could tell me much about Brendan that I don't already know."

Walker looks right into Brendan's eyes, full of vicious satisfaction.

"I bet you didn't know that his daddy used to touch him in a bad place?"

Of all the things Walker could have said, Brendan hadn't expected that. Of all the things, that was the worst. He feels like ice-cold water has been injected directly into his veins, chilling his blood and freezing right through to his heart. Despite it being the last thing on Earth right now he wants to do, some traitorous compulsion makes him seek out Steven's gaze like metal drawn to a magnet.

The boy looks shocked and sick and in the seconds of silence that Walker's so thoughtfully provided for his words to sink in, he shakes his head and whispers, "no."

"Tell him Brendan, just like you told me on that beach, day after you fucked me on your hotel room floor," he spits, words echoing accusingly off every concrete surface. "Go on."

"It's true," he says directly to Steven, watches as his expression turns from denial to devastation.

Walker gives Brendan a slow, cruel smile then leans in close to Steven again, lips pressed against his neck in a way that makes Brendan's skin crawl. "Said he'd never told _anyone_ that before. Bet that hurts, doesn't it, Ste?"

He says nothing in reply, simply looks at Brendan like he's trying to work through the revelation, like he's looking at him with an entirely new perspective and finally putting all the pieces of the puzzle together. Before Brendan knows what's happening there's a flurry of movement, a flash of silver and a sharp gasp.

Walker has a knife pressed against Steven's throat.

"It wasn't a rhetorical question. I'm going to need an answer."

He pushes the sharp tip under the skin right near Steven's jugular and he cries out, shaking and terrified. Blood wells up and spills over, drips down his neck and soaks into the pale blue collar of his shirt. It makes Brendan feel nauseous in a way blood never has before.

"Stop it," Brendan begs, again the words escaping from him without any input from his brain. He pulls against the tight grips of the men flanking him to no end. He's lost control of the situation, kicks himself for thinking it could be as simple as do the job and get Steven out.

"Answer the question, son."

"I don't know what you want me to say," Steven chokes out, voice cracking and he struggles, driving the knife deeper and quickening the flow of his blood.

It occurs to Brendan that this emotional extortion might be worse for him than the physical danger they're in. He knows better than anyone that Steven shoulders pain like he thinks he deserves it, that words cut him far deeper than any weapon could.

"Does it hurt? That he trusted me, not you, not even his own sister?" Walker asks roughly. He's losing his cool, looks unstable. "Doesn't it make you wonder just how fucked up he actually is?"

Jesus Christ.

"Why are you doing this?" Steven asks hysterically.

"I want you to _see._ I want you to _realise_; Brendan Brady isn't worth your loyalty or your love, he isn't worth defending. All he does is destroy and all of you forgive him over and over because you're so blinded by him," Walker spits viciously, furious and bordering on fanatical. "It's time to break the spell, Steven. Now think about that carefully and _answer the question._"

Brendan can't decide where to look, can't focus on Walker's rage or on Steven's stricken expression or the blood dripping down his skin. He thinks that even if they get out of this situation alive, the connection they've tentatively established recently might not. Walker's purposefully destroying the last good thing he has left.

Brendan sees Steven take a deep, steadying breath and braces himself for the answer.

"Yeah, it does hurt," Steven answers looking determined, voice wavering only very slightly, "but I get it, Brendan. It doesn't make me feel any differently about you."

Walker's surprised, looks frustrated that his words don't seem to have elicited the reaction he was hoping for. Brendan looks at Steven meaningfully, tries to express his gratitude for the support. He suspects, though, that Steven's lying for the sake of not giving Walker what he wants - the satisfaction of being right. He can barely bear to acknowledge what happened to him most of the time, can't imagine what Steven sees when he looks at him now.

Walker visibly composes himself, regains the calm focus he lost a moment ago. He shoots Brendan a look that sets his teeth on edge, narrowed eyes, cruel smirk, and says, "really? You're not wondering just how close this apple has fallen from that rotten tree?"

"Fuck you."

Brendan vision drips red but even through the haze of his fury he knows it wasn't him who just said that. He's surprised when Walker simply laughs it off breathlessly.

"No, but I was tempted, Steven," he says, laughing once again. "I mean, after I 'took one for the team' - Brendan's words not mine - having you all pliant and pinned down in that bed did get me thinking. What does it feel like to have that kind of power over another person? Brendan?"

"I'm going to kill you, I swear," is his ill thought out answer, his anger burning too bright to extinguish now. It makes Walker laugh harder, a cold, bitter sound that rings out all around them.

"I told you Brendan, I don't care. Do your worst! You'll survive this but will it be worth it when I'm finished?"

He gets down onto one knee, brings the knife he's holding right up across Steven's throat and presses it hard into his skin. Steven stills completely in Walker's arms and Brendan realises with the most sudden, terrifying clarity that the job was just perfect enough to make him believe this was a real ransom.

"Now, Ste, let me tell you something else about Brendan you didn't know," he says in a low, dangerous voice, not a trace of laughter now, "the real reason you're here actually. The reason you're about to die."

Everything falls silent and Brendan can hardly breathe from terror.

"Brendan Brady murdered my brother."

Steven's eyes flutter shut, chokes out a dry sob and looks utterly defeated for the first time since he was thrown into this warehouse.

"No, I didn't, I didn't murder him, Steven, I didn't," he shouts, struggles and tries to lash out at Walker's body guards but it's no use, they're fucking huge and Brendan's not at his full strength regardless. "He overdosed, I _just_ sold the drugs, I didn't - "

He realises in that moment how futile his explanation is, how much it sounds like a hollow and pathetic excuse. He feels suddenly winded and ceases his struggling, sags in the guard's grips. He's willing to do anything to get Walker to drop that knife.

"I'm sorry, Walker," he says softly.

Walker looks at him in surprise, caught off guard and Brendan sees the empty, haunted look in his eyes, nothing there but suffering and anger. "You're right, I do deserve your revenge, whatever punishment you wanna dole out but _Steven does not_. He has two children, you can't murder an innocent man and leave them without a father."

Walker blinks slowly, lowers his eyes to the knife. Brendan meets Steven's gaze, tries to convey without words how sorry he is and Steven doesn't look away; he looks at Brendan like he's his lifeline.

"Cam had a family too," Walker says softly, face unreadable, "a beautiful girl called Alice. They'd only been married for three weeks, ready to start trying for a baby. Seeing her now - loss can twist a person, turn them into something else."

Alice Walker, Brendan thinks faintly, his dead brother's widow, not his wife.

"Then don't do this to _them_," he insists, begs because he has to, "please just think, look at what you're doing, Walker, _please._"

"I think - " Walker starts, voice low and regretful, " - I think that you're right. He doesn't deserve it, neither do his children. However, Brendan, _you_ do and I have no greater way to hurt you. I'm sorry, Ste, I'd say my goodbyes if I were you."

"No, no no nonono," Brendan says breathlessly, feels like he's been doused in freezing cold water, blood-chilling terror seeping through him followed by the crystal-clear, absolute knowledge that he's about to watch Steven die. A wave of hopeless despair washes over him, so thick, impenetrably black, the complete absence of light, and he's suffocating on it.

He struggles harder against the arms holding him, throws himself forward, tries to kick, to hit out but his legs suddenly collapse under his weight, pain and weakness radiating out from his lower back from the solid knee one of Walker's boys just aimed into his spine.

"Brendan," a soft, pleading voice penetrates the fog that's blinding him. "Brendan, _please_."

He tries to focus, forces himself to push aside the pain and react to Steven's voice, to the tears in his blue eyes and the tremble of his soft and stubborn mouth and Brendan feels complete devastation like nothing he's ever felt before. Loss lurches through him and makes him dizzy, he's already grieving.

"I - I need you to look out f-for Amy and the kids, yeah?" Steven stutters. He's struggling in Walker's grip, straining, pointlessly, against his bonds.

Brendan's nodding, can't seem to speak much past the lump in his throat but there's something he needs to say and he thinks fuck his audience and fuck his pride, it's never done him any good.

"Promise me, Brendan - "

"Okay, okay, I promise, you know I will," he says breathlessly, can't seem to fill his lungs enough to speak properly, can't believe he's about to say goodbye, that he's going to stand here and watch this happen. "I need to - I need to tell you something, Steven, it's important."

He waits until Steven nods, glances at Walker and takes his triumphant, eager expression as permission. He knows exactly what Brendan is about to say, how it's going to tear him to shreds and he couldn't look happier to be a witness to it.

"I always loved you, Steven," he says and has to take a measured breath to keep his voice from shaking. It's almost impossible and he's agonisingly aware of Walker and the two guys at his sides but he _can't_ fuck up his last chance to do this, for anything. He'd never, _ever_ forgive himself if he did. The words pour out of him in a desperate rush. "I never stopped. I love you and I'll _never_ stop loving you and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, for everything. I wish things had been different, wish I'd have been different, I hate myself every day for what I did to you, you're a good man and you never deserved it and I wish I'd given us a chance, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry - "

He has to stop, his voice is breaking and Steven's face is shocked, wide-eyed, tearful and beautiful and no matter how hard Brendan tries he can't even gather enough energy to try and break free of Walker's guys anymore to get closer to him, to touch him one last time. A numbing, crippling lassitude has overtaken him, sapped him of everything he has left and all he can do is stare helplessly.

"Very touching," Walker interjects, gives Brendan the most intense and focused look. "I'll always remember you like this, Brendan; well and truly broken."

Brendan's eyes fall immediately to the knife at Steven's throat and time seems to condense into an infinite moment where all he can hear is the pounding of his heart and all he can see is a flash of silver and the shine of blood.

Suddenly he's back in the present like someone's slapped him. There's a cacophony around him like a bomb went off and his ears are ringing with it. The most concentrated sound of agony he's ever heard thunders out around the room and he has to blink to make sense of the shapes dancing in front of his eyes.

His gaze snaps to Walker's face, drawn by the most vivid burst of red, the colour so bright and alien in the dingy, grey room, and Brendan's stomach turns. His cheek is torn wide open and covered in blood and he's screaming, backing up across the room away from them, and what the fuck is happening?

He feels both the guys loosen their grip on him in surprise and, fueled by pure instinct and adrenaline, strikes out with his elbow. He feels the satisfying crunch of bone under the impact and does it again twice as hard, catching one of the men off guard and sending him to the ground.

Brendan kicks out blindly and connects with some soft part of another body. He looks around, tries to get his bearings, can't think past his confusion and gets a fist in the stomach from bodyguard number two before the guy doubles over, wheezing. All the air whooshes out of him and he's on his knees, nose to concrete floor.

"Brendan!"

It can't be. He's dizzy from the lack of oxygen. He feels a hand under his arm, dragging him up and pulling at him roughly.

"Brendan, come on!"

He blinks a few times to clear his vision, sees the most miraculous sight he's ever seen.

"Come on, please," Steven, _Steven_, says urgent and scared and he pulls himself together. He looks around, sees one man unconscious and the other groaning and holding his crotch. He sees Walker, yards away and bent over, clutching his cheek and so much blood pouring from his face it looks like he's vomiting it.

Brendan strides over to bodyguard number two, flushed red and glowering at him through watering eyes, and kicks him in the face so brutally he looses teeth and pitches backwards. He turns to Walker, fury so focused and crystal clear that he's totally calm.

Brendan's going to kill him with his bare hands, delight in the feeling of his blood running through his fingers, see the light go out in his eyes. He looks at Steven, sure that he's going to try and stop him but what he sees instead is Steven's terrified eyes trained on Walker before he whispers, "he's got a gun."

He glimpses it for a split second as Walker struggles to untangle it, thankfully slow and clumsy, hands slippery with his own blood, from his jacket before his instinct kicks in and he grabs Steven's hand and gets them both the Hell out of there, the sound of one bullet ricocheting off the concrete floor at their feet ringing in his ears.


	5. come take my hand, i'll take your hand

Title and lyrics from the song Wax and Wire by Loch Lomand

* * *

_well i'd pull, teeter away_

_at the earth with my teeth_

_the earth with my teeth_

_to touch your face alive_

Brendan gets them to his car, phones the police anonymously on the way out and quickly tells them where they can find their man, hanging up before they can ask who's calling - he's sure someone will work it out and bother him later - and tears out of the area in a cloud of gravel.

He doesn't slow down, hardly breathes until he's far enough away from that place that the vice squeezing his lungs has eased slightly. He concentrates on Steven's shaky inhale and exhale in the passenger seat.

When he finally finds his voice he asks, "are you okay?"

"I've been better but yeah, we're alive so not bad," Steven replies, voice shredding through his throat and making Brendan wince in sympathy. "Did you tell Amy what was goin' on?"

"Yeah I called her, she came up first thing this morning and left the kids with Mike. Her and Cheryl are at Doug's, safer than mine," he struggles to wrestle his phone out of his front pocket and hands it to Steven without taking his eyes off the road. He feels Steven's fingers warm against his as he takes it and quickly grasps hold, squeezes both their hands around the black metal. Steven's thumb stroke across his wrist before he lets go.

It takes Amy about a tenth of a second to answer and Brendan pictures her how he left her, keeping everyone else calm while she herself fell apart silently. He'd held her briefly in the upstairs hallway, both of them kind of falling into each other unexpectedly and she hadn't cried one tear but Brendan had felt like he was drowning in them just the same.

"Amy? I know, I know, I'm fine, I'm okay," he stops, sounds wet and choked and coughs it away, "yeah Brendan's fine too, we're on our way back in the car now, I'll see you soon I promise, no don't put anyone else on, I'll tell you everything when we get there, we won't be long, I'm sure, love you too, Amy, swear, more than anything, bye, bye."

Brendan see's out of the corner of his eye how Steven drops the phone heavily into his lap and lets his head fall back against the headrest.

"Pull over," he demands.

Brendan looks over at him sharply, takes in the quick rise and fall of his chest, his frighteningly pale skin, his blown wide pupils, and nearly smacks himself upside the head for not noticing before.

_Steven's been drugged._

Walker didn't physically restrain him like he'd assumed, instead he'd dosed him up with fucking chemicals.

Brendan breaks the car under a rare street light at the side of the remote road they're on, nothing but fields and the shadows of trees in all directions.

He turns and reaches across gap between the seats frantically, grasping Steven's arms as gently as his shaking hands will allow and fumbles to roll up his shirt sleeves with dread settling heavily in his stomach. The cuffs are stained red from the torn skin of his wrists where they were tied, probably from Walker's blood too.

In the crook of one elbow there are several dark circles; several completely black, penny sized bruises. Brendan rubs one unsteady thumb over the marks and feels Steven tense and hears his breath hitch.

Brendan's out of the car in the space of his next heartbeat, skidding across the bonnet and flinging open the passenger side door. Within seconds he's on his knees and Steven's falling into his lap, shaking and warm and _alive_, _oh God he's alive_, right there on the side of the road.

Steven clings to him, arms tight around his shoulders and face buried in his neck and Brendan clings back, pushes his hands up the back of Steven's shirt and digs his fingers into the heated skin of his back, pulling him close and pressing out all the spaces that ever existed between them.

Brendan breathes him in, nose and lips against the skin of Steven's throat and he can taste blood, shivers at the reminder of how close they'd come, how close he was to losing this life literally in his hands. He's mumbling words of comfort, pushing them into Steven's bruised and torn body and sealing them in tight with kisses.

_You're alive, I'm so sorry, I meant every word, I'll never let anything happen to you ever again, I always, I never stopped._

Steven pulls back, just enough to press his forehead against Brendan's. The mist of their stuttering breath mingles in the inch of cold air separating their lips and Brendan feels the the buzz of adrenaline still sizzling through his blood. There's the familiar, inexorable pull, the charge of heat and electricity that for all his self-control he's always been completely helpless against and he trembles with the effort of staying still.

Then that mouth is on his, lips pressing together, warm and wet and clinging. He opens up into it, slides his tongue against Steven's and tries to push out the memories of Walker and blood and death and fill him with everything he's worth. Brendan kisses him for the longest time, deep and desperate and life-affirming, Steven's fingers digging into the skin of his neck, his back, his own hands pulling him impossibly close, until they're both breathless. When he pulls back it's only to rest their foreheads together again.

He chuffs a laugh when Steven nuzzles their noses together, moans softly when he kisses Brendan's bottom lip, gentle and lingering and familiar. He wants to remember every second of this moment because it's the last time. He's not selfish enough to try and take this again, not anymore.

They stay like that, pressed together on the gravel, lips touching, soft and tender not-quite-kisses, until the adrenaline fades and Brendan feels the ache in his limbs.

"Come on, we should get back and I'm seizing up."

He feels Steven nod against him and he grips the car door to steady himself as Brendan climbs out from under him. When Brendan pulls him up he slumps, weakly, in his arms.

"What did he drug you with?" he asks, maneuvering Steven back into the passenger seat.

"Dunno but it made me hallucinate," he screws up his face in thought, oblivious to Brendan's tightening grip on his arm, "it made it difficult to breathe aswell, do you know what does that?"

"No, but I'll try and find out just in case," he promises.

He gets back in the car, sets off again and gets up into fifth gear quickly so he can free up his hand to reach across and take Steven's, threading their fingers together and gripping tight.

* * *

Steven falls asleep after five minutes on the road, hand going slack in his, and Brendan drives the rest of the way slower than he could. He wants to give Steven some peace for a while because he knows as soon as they get back to Doug's flat he's going to get mobbed with questions.

When he finally pulls up behind their building and shuts off the engine, he looks over at the wrecked boy in his passenger seat and can't quite get a handle on what he's feeling. Suddenly, Steven startles awake with a gasp, looking frantically around and Brendan leans across to place both his hands on him.

"Hey, it's okay, we're in my car, we're home," he soothes and Steven relaxes, breathes in and out deeply. Brendan doesn't need to ask what he was dreaming about. "We can just go to mine if you want, I'll get Amy and Chez and tell Doug and the others that you need some peace?"

"No, I'm fine."

So bloody stubborn as always.

"Steven - "

"Brendan, I'm fine," he snaps impatiently, looks at Brendan with grim determination and he can't help but roll his eyes.

"And you say that _I_ make things difficult for myself."

Steven smirks at that. "Must be rubbing off on me then."

"There's a dirty joke in there somewhere but I'm too tired to make it."

"Wow, you must have 'ad a bad day," he says, half serious and Brendan will have to tell him what happened at some point but now's not the time.

"How did you get out of the rope?"

"Hid a needle up my sleeve, picked at it from the minute we got in the car to meet you and then shoved it in Walker's face."

Brendan's impressed into silence for a moment. He thinks it's something he would have thought of himself and it makes him proud as well as a little disturbed.

"Jesus, just, you're kind of vicious sometimes d'you know that?" he laughs belatedly, gets a huge amount of satisfaction thinking of Walker with his face ripped up.

"It's been said," Steven says tiredly but smiling slightly all the same.

Brendan feels a surge of affection for him that has nothing to do with attraction, just warmth and adoration.

"I feel like ruffling your hair right now, is that weird?" he asks, overwhelmed by a sudden, giddy urge to say something silly. His emotions are all over the place, he needs to get them under control.

Steven snorts a laugh. "Coming from you there's not a lot that sounds weird to me."

He's got some of the twinkle back in his eyes and it's enough for Brendan to finally ask, "you ready to go inside?"


	6. you brought out the best in me

Another quite long chapter. Thank you so much for the lovely reviews, I appreciate them so much and they've given me such a massive confidence boost about my writing!

Title and lyrics from the song All I Want by Kodaline.

* * *

_'cause you brought out the best of me_

_a part of me i'd never seen_

_you took my soul wiped it clean_

_our love was made for movie screens_

Amy's on her feet the second Brendan gets the front door open. The whole room goes silent as she makes her way over and Brendan watches her face, fascinated like she thinks she's dreaming, as she touches Steven's arms, his neck, his face, before her expression crumbles into despair.

"What did he - "

"Shhh, don't, Ames," Steven says softly and pulls her into his arms and grips her tightly.

Brendan thinks, not five minutes after that, that he could never have been ready for this and decides he's taking Steven home.

It's like some kind of welcome home party, like Steven's been off on holiday or something instead of drugged, beaten and locked up in some lunatic's house.

That dopey looking Savage boy is here, of all people. The two girls are still up, the brunette who's sister he was put in prison for murdering - _that _had been awkward - and the crazy blonde who Brendan had decided earlier he actually quite likes.

He'll be fucked if he's going to waste valuable brain cells remembering their names. They're so far detached from his reality right now that they may as well not exist.

Brendan lets them fuss over Steven for a bit, keeps an eye on him whilst he fake-smiles and clearly tries his best not to pass out, and then announces that the coast is _absolutely_ clear and they're going to his _immediately_.

They have a few days to breathe at least, there's not a chance the police will have been quick enough to catch Walker, especially not after - not after what Walker had him do, but thanks to Steven's unexpected reconstruction of his face he'll need to get far enough away from the heat to heal up and regroup.

Brendan takes Cheryl to one side while Steven says his goodbyes.

"I'd feel better if you came with us," he pleads softly, will literally do whatever it takes.

"What, so that you can make sure I don't get kidnapped too?"

"I just want you to be safe, please."

Her face softens, just like it had earlier when he'd gotten ready to leave and she'd hit him and told him to get them _both_ home safely with tears in her eyes.

"I know," and it's more give then he's had off her in a long time. "I'll come, but not for you, for Ste."

He wants to hug her but suspects that it might earn him a kick in the balls. It's a start.

* * *

He finally gets them out, tells them all to keep safe and for God's sake _tell_ him if anything suspicious happens. That's four more people in the world he never wanted to have to give his phone number to.

Brendan keeps one hand on the small of Steven's back the whole time, feels him lean his weight into it whilst he gets the door open. He herds everyone inside and locks and bolts them in, kind of wishes he had a blowtorch so he could make it permanent.

Immediately, Cheryl drags him off to the kitchen and shoves the kettle into his hand.

"Leave them for a bit," she says, gesturing at Steven and Amy as they fall to the sofa together. He can hear Amy finally crying, can't help but watch them together, talking quietly, soft and close, and it makes him ache for his baby sister.

"Chez," the word slips out against his will.

"Don't Brendan. I just can't, you need to give me more time."

"Time?" he asks hopefully and turns to look at her, sees that she's watching them too.

"You don't know how badly I want us to be okay," she tells him softly. "Today helped, getting Ste back - "

She tears up and waves him away when he reaches out to touch her.

" - whenever I look at you all I can see is _him_; I can't make it go away just like that, Bren, it scares me."

"Okay, I understand," and he does, he can wait as long as she needs so long as he knows there's a chance she might look at him like her big brother again. "Just know that I don't wanna be that man anymore, Chez. I'm gonna be better."

She touches his arm briefly, like she might actually believe him this time, and turns back to the tea. He fills the kettle, hands her the sugar jar when she holds out her hand, fetches the milk and when she rolls her eyes at him for leaving the wet spoon on the counter, goes and rinses it under the tap.

"Tea is the solver of all life's problems," Cheryl announces to the living room loudly, gives Amy and Steven a little warning to compose themselves before she and Brendan bring the cups over. It's kind of a strange scene, what with Steven and himself sat covered in blood and everyone sat around sipping tea civilly.

"So what now?" Amy asks.

"Jesus, can't we just catch our breath for a second before it's back to business?" Brendan gripes, literally just sat down properly for the first time in hours.

"Are we safe? Is Ste safe?"

He sighs, thinks 'fuck it' and decides to lay it all out. He doesn't get to hide things anymore, doesn't get to decide how much people are allowed to know.

"For now, yeah. I tipped off the police when we got out but I doubt they'll find Walker there, might find two of his boys but not him. But he's injured, badly," he looks at Steven, "so he'll be in no fit state to do anything for at least a few days, hopefully longer, plus he'll have to get away from here to somewhere not crawling with cops. He's not gonna let this go, though, and we can't put too much trust in the police round here to find him."

"Then come back to Manchester with me, Ste?" Amy offers. "Just for a bit."

"I can't, Amy, I can't risk leading Walker anywhere near the kids," Steven says fairly, "or you and Mike."

"I think - " Brendan interjects, hesitates because he has a feeling noone is going to like this suggestion, "I think that me, Steven and Cheryl should go to Ireland for a while."

The words echo about the room awkwardly, met with a lengthy silence and three numb stares.

"Okay, everyone feel free to comment." He flings his hands out a little desperately.

"What about Amy?" Steven asks and it's actually a sensible question and not the dismissal he was expecting.

"Okay, Amy too."

"I can't just tell my dad I'm off on holiday all of a sudden and oh, would he mind having the kids for a few weeks," she says, "not without telling him we're in trouble and I know he'd think it was Ste back to his old ways, it's not that long since he started trusting him again."

"Leah and Lucas aswell then," Brendan says exasperatedly, "anyone else?"

Silence again. Brendan buries his face in his hands.

"Come on it's two in the morning. Let's just sleep on it tonight, we're all exhausted," Cheryl suggests and he feels like he could kiss her. "We can talk about everything tomorrow. Ste, love, you look like Hell."

"Cheers, Chez," Steven laughs softly. "I'm desperate for a shower and a change of clothes."

"I packed a bag from home for you, it's upstairs in Lynsey's old room," Amy tells him. Brendan notices how she still calls it home, notices also how his heart still clenches when someone says Lynsey's name in that casual, conversational way.

"Come on, I'll get it running," Brendan says standing up and offering Steven his hand. "I wanna check you over with a first aid kit too, it's upstairs."

Steven gets up and allows Brendan to wrangle him up into the bathroom. He goes into Lynsey's room - it's still Lynsey's room, nothing's changed - and grabs some jogging bottoms and the softest t-shirt he can find from the bag Amy packed. In the bathroom doorway, he stops short.

Steven is stood in front of the mirror staring at his reflection, still as a statue, both hands tightly gripping the sink.

Brendan drops the clothes and approaches slowly from behind, clears his throat to give Steven some warning so he doesn't get startled. He stands behind his shoulder and looks, really _looks,_ for the first time since the car and it had been too dark to really see.

Steven looks like a ghost.

His cheek is bruised and cut, lip split, neck covered in Walker's hand prints and drying blood from where the knife went in. His eyes are dull and hollow and he's paler than Brendan's ever seen him, almost transparent like he's fading away. Brendan has the overwhelming urge to grip him tightly, make him solid again, but he's not sure where else he's injured.

Gently, he turns him around, hands light on Steven's shoulders. He slips his fingers through the buttons of his shirt, one by one, revealing more skin with rising dread at what he's going to find. He breathes a sigh when he finds nothing. No bruises means no broken ribs, no damaged organs.

He tugs the shirt down Steven's arms and stops at the red-stained cuffs, gently pulls the material over his hands and takes them in his own. Both wrists are torn up pretty bad from the struggle to get out of the rope, the knuckles of his right hand grazed, gash in his palm from the impact of the needle when he threw the punch.

Brendan slips one hand up Steven's arm, over the bruises at his elbow and down across his shoulder to rest over his heart. It's beating weak and rapid against his palm like a moth fluttering against a window. His skin is warm under Brendan's fingers.

Steven looks down to where they're touching and Brendan hears his throat click when he swallows.

"It's not - I'm not - " Brendan stammers, appalled how shaky his voice sounds.

Steven looks sharply up at him and says quickly, "I know, I didn't think you were."

"D'you have anymore injuries?"

"No, apart from feeling like I just spent the last week on a bender," he replies jokingly, cutting through some of the tension. Brendan reaches behind him for the glass next to the sink and fills it with water.

"I'm sorry I can't give you any painkillers, can't risk it," he says, handing him the drink.

"I know, don't think my liver could cope anyway."

"How many times did he drug you?"

Steven sips the water, wincing either due to his throat or his stomach or both, and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Umm, he must have slipped something in my drink at the SU Bar last night, then when I woke up this morning he had a needle," he stops and fiddles with his lip, and Brendan has to ask 'what?' before he carries on very quietly, "he said he'd given me an overdose."

There's nothing Brendan can say to that so he just squeezes Steven's arm and maneuvers him to sit on the edge of the bath.

"Any more?"

"Yeah, there was one more somewhere between then and the time we came to meet you, the time's really vague though."

Three loads of sedatives. Brendan thinks that can't have been necessary just to keep him under control. Locking him in a room would have kept him under control. It's like Walker wanted him completely at his mercy. Brendan thinks back to the words _I was tempted_ and wonders how close he actually came, wonders if he would have gone that far. _M__akes you wonder what else I'm capable of._

"Right, try not to touch your neck too much, I'll clean it properly when you're done." He leans over and turns the shower on, leaves the bathroom door slightly ajar when he goes.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he finds Amy sat leaning up against the hallway wall just outside.

"Jesus, no more scares today _please_," he scolds and she gives him a wan smile. He leans back against the wall opposite her and slides down until he's sat on the carpet. Brendan finds the clothes he dropped and touches the soft fabric of the t-shirt between his fingers. It's the most vivid shade of blue. "How're you holding up?"

"Better, obviously," she says softly, "but I can't say I'll sleep much tonight."

"No, me neither."

"Are you serious about us going away?"

"If the police don't catch up with Walker in the next few days, yeah."

She lets out a breathy laugh and drags her hands through her hair.

"It's gonna be, like, the weirdest family holiday ever."

"So you'll consider it?"

"I don't think we have much choice. I'm kind of putting the lives of my family in your hands right now, Brendan," she says looking at him intently, "I might not trust you about most things but after today I do trust you to protect us."

He's stunned into silence at the enormity of those words, especially coming from Amy. Brendan feels like he'd be willing to do anything to live up to that trust. Letting Steven or Cheryl down again is not an option anymore and it makes him consider what Amy's well-being means to him. She's the mother of Steven's children, one of the most important people in his life. Brendan used to resent her for that but now he feels like it connects them. Earlier, when Walker still had Steven, Amy was the only person who'd asked him how _he_ was coping. Despite all their differences they'd shared the same sense of loss and Amy knew it.

He should be annoyed that yet another person has managed to worm their way onto the list of people he has to keep safe but he isn't, it doesn't feel like another weakness. Her trust, Steven's trust; it's made him feel stronger than he has in a long time. Brendan thinks maybe he needs this, needs people to rely on him, needs to know he's worth relying on.

"I won't take that lightly."

She nods like she already knows.

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before the shower turns off. When Steven opens the door he jumps about a foot backwards.

"Jesus! Bit of warning woulda been nice, I 'ave just been kidnapped you know," he says, one hand over his heart and the other gripping the towel slung low on his hips. He's flushed and his hair's sticking up all over the place. "Nearly just exposed myself."

"Would hardly of been a surprise, Ste, it's nothing either of haven't seen before," Amy says and Brendan throws his head back against the wall and laughs out loud, surprised and thrilled by the feeling.

"Yeah, alright, very funny," Steven rolls his eyes but he's smirking and it's lovely. "What are you two doing sat out 'ere listening to me in the shower, anyway? It's a bit weird."

"This whole situation is a bit weird," Amy huffs, hauling herself off the floor. "I'm gonna try and get some sleep so - "

"Yeah, I'll just get patched up and I'll be in," Steven reassures her softly, leaning in to give her a kiss. He watches her go down the hall and into Lynsey's room. "How was she?"

Brendan steers him into the bathroom, locks the door and hands him the clothes. He goes rooting through the cabinet for the first aid kit and resists the urge to look when Steven just drops the towel, not the slightest bit modest, never was, and pulls on his pants.

"She kept it together, you'd have been proud of her," he says, "good in a crisis your Amy."

Steven smiles, small and private. "She's had plenty of practice with me around."

"That's because you're a drama queen. Leave the shirt off for now, don't wanna get antiseptic crap all over it," Brendan says, signalling Steven to sit back down on the tub. He ducks a smack round the head and gets down on his knees on the rug between Steven's legs. They've done this before in here, exact same positions but under much better circumstances. He pushes out the memories, instead busying himself with soaking a clean cloth in Detol.

Cupping one hand around the back of Steven's neck to make sure he can't flinch back, he dabs at the cut on his cheek.

"You don't have to tell me everything that happened but if you want to," he says, wiping away a drop of fresh blood that the shower must have set off again, "I'm listening."

Steven looks at him for a while in silence while Brendan wipes the split in his lip, when he's done he says, "okay," and takes a deep breath.

He looks off over Brendan's shoulder, somewhere into distance, while he tells the story, hissing when Brendan presses the soaked cloth against the wound on his neck but otherwise not stopping.

Brendan cleans him up slowly and methodically, the motion of the cloth repetitive and the soft cadence of Steven's voice a comfort. He gets out the antiseptic cream and warms it with his fingers before smoothing it over the broken skin of his cheek, puts a little on his thumb and swipes it across his soft bottom lip.

The gash in his neck is worrying him a little bit. It's quite deep, not enough for stitches but enough to be a pain until it gets a good scab over it. He tilts Steven's head back a little and applies the cream, feels the vibration of his voice through the skin under his fingertips.

When he's done he takes Steven's hands. Both his wrists are rubbed raw, skin completely shredded, and he pours more solution onto the cloth until it's soaked. He wraps it around one wrist at a time and Steven stops speaking, head falling forward and eyes squeezing shut to ride out the pain.

His hands are shaking by the time Brendan's finished cleaning the burns. He squirts a huge dollop of cream onto his palm and rubs his hands together, takes each of Steven's wrists one after the other and gently massages the cream into his skin.

It's soothing. Brendan can feel the pulse under his fingers slow and hear Steven's breathing even out. Neither of them are saying anything at all, simply looking down at their hands while Brendan keeps touching and rubbing, smoothing cream into Steven's grazed knuckles and his cut palm.

He feels better than he has all night, the quiet respite restorative and fuck knows he needed it. Being able to catalog Steven's injuries has helped him regain some control over the situation and being able to touch and soothe and heal has helped comfort them both. He feels less frantic and more grounded. It's amazing how Steven's presence has started to become a balm to his rapidly fraying nerves in the months since Lynsey died.

He pulls out a roll of bandages and wraps the treated wrists and when he's nearly done Steven speaks.

"You know I'm gonna ask," he states casually, head still bowed but eyes looking up at him.

"There's a few things I know you're gonna ask, yeah."

"I'm just giving you fair warning." He's smiling up at Brendan lopsidedly in that warm way he does that makes him think of the days after the explosion. _You'll always be my problem._

"I'll tell you whatever you wanna know Steven, I promise," he says quietly, can't imagine how he's going to tell the man he loves about the things he's done, the things done _to_ him, but he's damn well going to try. "Not tonight though, we need sleep."

Steven's looks away sharply, flash of wide-eyed horror flickering over his face quickly.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Nothing, nothing, I'm fine," he says quickly, "just felt sick for a minute."

Brendan suspects he's lying but he lets it go. Steven needs to regain some of his equilibrium and however he does it Brendan has to support him. He knows he's been spared some of the details about the kidnapping, like how Steven got his myriad of bruises for instance, but Brendan understands better than anyone the need to keep pieces of yourself hidden and protected.

He takes a square plaster and smooths it over the gash in Steven's neck.

There are different ways to heal.


	7. see the sky is no man's land

Warning: Mentions of childhood sexual abuse.

I'm just going to stop warning for long chapters now because this one just takes the piss. It's also **very** dialogue heavy.

Title and lyrics from Ben Howard - Black Flies.

* * *

_no man is an island, oh this I know_

_but can't you see, oh?_

_maybe you were the ocean_

_when I was just a stone_

It's 6am and Brendan's had about an hours fitful sleep at most. He stands, still damp from the shower that hadn't made him feel any better, half dead in front of the kettle, staring into an empty cup.

_"We should call the police, what's wrong with you people!?" Douglas looks horrified that they're even suggesting waiting for Walker to get in touch._

_"He is the police, Douglas," Brendan says, tempted to get up in his face, barely concealed rage gnawing its way through his skin, desperate to break out and tear its claws into someone, "he knows I know that he's got Steven, he knows I know that he wants something. He'll call."_

_"But the police - "_

_"The police are already after him and they've found fuck all in weeks. I have no idea where he's taken Steven, the only way to get him back is to do what Walker wants."_

_He wishes he could feel more confident about that. He knows he'll hear from Walker whatever his plan is, the man wants him to suffer and if Steven's going to die Brendan knows he'll be getting a front row seat. _

_The fact that Walker didn't just kill Steven out in the street and leave his body on Brendan's doorstep tells him that there's more to it, that Walker's playing with him, seeing just what he can make Brendan do. It tells him that he's a man driven by obsession and revenge, love for his lost brother, and hopefully not a cold-blooded killer. He prays that's the case. He just needs to know what Walker's intentions are before he completely loses his mind. He's never been more afraid in his entire life._

_"Doug, if Walker's got Ste because he wants something, getting the police involved might get him killed," Cheryl stammers. She looks a wreck and Brendan wants to hold her, thank any deity that will listen that she, at least, is safe. _

_When he'd barged into Doug's earlier she'd thrown herself at him, screaming and hitting him, 'what have you done' over and over until she'd run out of energy and slumped to the floor unable to even stand his arms holding her up. _

_He'd knelt next to her and felt totally helpless until the girls, Doug's flatmates, had guided her back to the sofa with quiet reassuring words and he'd nodded at them in thanks._

_"So we put all our trust in you, then?" Doug asks with a derisive snort. "Excuse me if that doesn't fill me with confidence."_

_It rattles him enormously but he breathes deep and tries to bury it. He can't start kicking off now or he'll lose himself completely._

_"I'm gonna get him back."_

_"It's your fault he's gone in the first place!"_

_Brendan turns around, quick as a flash, and buries his fist into the wall. He rounds on Douglas, hardly even feels the pain._

_"Don't you think I already know that!? How is reminding me supposed to help?" he shouts, seeing red but Doug isn't afraid of him right now and he's just as furious._

_"Maybe so you can actually open your eyes and see what you've done to the people around you!"_

_"Oh get off your high horse, Douglas."_

_"I've never gotten someone killed, Brendan!" he shouts, angry and hysterical and Brendan's heart pounds fiercely._

_"He's not going to die!" The words come out high-pitched and broken._

_"And why should we believe you!?"_

_"I won't let it happen, I lo - "_

_The whole room rings with the words he nearly just said. Doug looks stunned, like he's just been slapped, and no-one says a word. Only Cheryl doesn't look surprised._

_Brendan turns, flings open the door and pauses in front of it._

_"Nobody leave this flat, nobody call the police. I'll be back in less than an hour," he says, low and flat and leaving no room for argument. With that he leaves and slams the door shut behind him so hard the frame rattles._

"I don't think even you can scare it into making tea or coffee on it's own."

Brendan jumps and spins around, sees Steven stood leaning against the stairs watching him.

"What I'd really like is for people in this house to stop scaring the crap out of each other," he says, his heart racing - he's a fucking nervous wreck. "I'm gonna fit you all with bells."

"Make sure you get yourself one aswell then," he says, voice still hoarse. "I'll put it on a pretty pink ribbon for you."

Brendan chuffs a laugh, feels better already just from Steven's presence. The natural way they fall into easy conversation easing the tension in his shoulders and the throbbing behind his eyes.

"Tea?"

Steven nods, "please," and sits down at the dining table.

"Can't sleep either?" Brendan asks casually, leaning with his back to the counter while the kettle boils.

"More like," Steven pauses and looks reluctant, "more like I don't want to."

Brendan doesn't push him for more, just gets on with making the drinks and lets him take his time without feeling scrutinised. He finishes up and sits down at the head of the table with two steaming mugs, shifts his chair closer to Steven until he can brush their arms together.

"I couldn't wake up," he says softly after a moment.

It takes a moment for Brendan to realise what he means and he has to let the horror of the words sink in. The drugs, a waking nightmare, completely helpless to end it. He knows what that feels like.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

"Rough, exhausted," Steven says wryly "What about you? Your day was probably almost as bad as mine."

He considers making a humorous comment, brushing off Steven's concern and keeping things light but he finds he doesn't want to. He's sick of pretending to be okay.

"Not so good, Steven," he says, adrenaline kicking up a notch and making his heart flutter. Steven goes completely still, like he thinks Brendan's a spooked horse and he daren't move for fear of him bolting. "The things Walker told you - "

He stops to prepare himself and Steven sips his tea and doesn't say a word, just waits him out.

"All of it was true. His brother, my da', all of it, that he played me and I just told him something I'd never told anyone before, there's more stuff - "

Steven reaches out and places a warm hand on his arm. "Brendan, calm down. I'm not asking you for anything."

"I know, I know you're not but I want you to know," he says breathlessly. "It's important that _you_ know."

So he starts from the beginning, tells Steven about Joel's stepdad, about Cheryl wanting to see their nan, about the fuck-up at the lighthouse, about his baby sister walking in on him cutting up a body.

"Are you surprised she's so freaked out? It's one thing to know about it but I dunno how _I'd_ feel about seeing you actually sawing up a body," he says, looking a bit sick. "So Joel pushed him?"

"Yeah, I should never have dragged him up there in the first place."

"But you did," Steven says plainly, "why?"

"I wanted him to take the power back."

"By standin' up to him not by torturing him!" He rubs his hands over his face and sighs. "It's pretty messed up, Brendan."

"You think I don't know that?" he asks defensively. "I just - he stood for everything that I hate. It's like I just saw him hitting Joel outside the club and something in me snapped."

Steven's gaze slides past him and he looks contemplative, staring intently like he's gone somewhere else entirely. "I suppose he can't hurt anyone ever again," he mumbles dazedly and then shakes his head and seems to snap back to himself. Brendan's a little surprised, it's not the sanest thing he's ever heard Steven come out with. "Doesn't make it right, though. How's Joel handling all this?"

"He's a mess. It shook him up really bad, that's why he fled the country. Cheryl too, she thinks I killed the guy. I suppose I did in a way," he says quietly. "Anyway, I was a bit of a wreck, went back to the hotel and - there was Walker."

He trails off and looks down, doesn't want to look at Steven while he's remembering how it had felt, how he'd pushed Walker's face away, couldn't bare to have Walker look at him, flipped him over and just taken what he'd needed. The thought that Walker - that he hadn't -

"So you and him slept together?" Steven asks, voice all forced casual in a way that sounds nothing like it.

"I wouldn't call it that," Brendan laughs dryly. "He was trying to get close, to get me to trust him so that I'd tell him where the body was and he could send me down. He would have done anything."

"Because he thinks you killed his brother?"

"Yeah, he let it get too personal, lost his fucking marbles and even the police are after him now."

"Well," Steven says looking away, like he's not sure he should say what he's thinking, "what would you have done? If you thought he was responsible for someone you loved dyin'?"

It's a good question, relevant, since it had almost happened a few hours ago.

"I'd want him to pay," he concedes. "I think that's why he scares me. Because he's like me, except he has nothing to lose."

"And he's completely crazy," Steven says evenly and it makes Brendan snort. "I mean it, Bren, I thought _you_ were mad but - "

"Steven!"

" - but he's like one of those mental religious people that kills for what they believe in, y'know? Totally sure what he's doing's justified. You can't make someone like that see sense."

He knows they're both thinking back to the moment in that warehouse where Brendan had thought for a split second he'd convinced Walker he couldn't kill an innocent man and Walker had agreed; agreed what a terrible thing it was and had been willing to go ahead with it regardless.

"What was he like when he was with you?" Brendan asks, Steven hadn't given him too many details the night before, just the series of events. "I just can't seem to get him straight in my head, ironically."

"_You're_ changing the subject."

"Yeah but just for a little bit, promise," he says holding up his fingers, scout's honour. Steven gives him a small smile and brings his tea up to take a sip, holds it in front of his face for a while.

"He was like two people," Steven muffles against the cup, "really unstable and angry one minute and then kind of - "

He trails off and Brendan touches his bandaged wrist gently, pulls it and the cup back down to the table. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"No, come on, story for a story, it's only fair," he insists. "It was like he was all understanding. One minute he was choking me and the next minute he kissed me, he - "

"He _kissed_ you!?" Brendan finds himself yelling before he's really registered he's going to.

"No, not like, _kissed _kissed, just like a peck, like he was trying to rattle me, like a threat," Steven says quickly, grabbing Brendan's tightly clenched fist. "He didn't do anything else like that, I swear."

Brendan's leg bounces under the table. He tries to let Steven's words sink in but all he can hear in his head is _what does it feel like to have that kind of power over another person_ and thinks there's nothing Walker wouldn't have done to break Brendan, so why not that?

"Yeah, yeah, okay," he breathes, nods and tries to make a show of looking calm even though his insides are screaming at him. "Carry on."

"He asked me about _us_, which I really didn't expect," he continues and then looks flustered and quickly amends, "not that I'm saying there's an us, you know, about us before, ages ago."

Brendan clears his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, yeah I know what you meant."

"Yeah," Steven says and looks back down at his hands. "He wanted to know stuff like how long were we together and he knew - "

Another long pause, until Brendan asks, "knew what?" but he has a feeling he already knows.

"He asked about you hittin' me, asked me why I'd go back to you, whether we loved each other," he says so quietly it's like he doesn't want Brendan to actually hear him. "That's the kind of stuff he wanted to know, really personal stuff."

"He was working out the best things to say to fuck with my head in that warehouse," Brendan says thoughtfully. "Makes sense doesn't it? Maximize the horror."

"Yeah, I think you're right. But then he changed. After I'd told him everything he called me 'just another victim of Brendan Brady' and he was really different. Told me I deserved to know that you - that you'd definitely do what he asked to keep me safe, like he felt sorry for me. He was proper schizo."

_"You're barking up the wrong tree here, Walker, I told you before he doesn't mean a thing to me. I'm not doing this because of any feelings you seem to think I have for the boy but I'm not a monster; he has a family, he's helped me out recently, I'm not gonna let him get hurt on my account," Brendan says, proud at how detached his voice sounds._

_"You sounded pretty emotional when you just spoke to him," Walker says and the bastard sounds so fucking smug._

_"Trying to calm him down."_

_"Whatever you say, son," he says dispassionately, "you keep those emotions in check, wouldn't want anyone to know how much you cared."_

_Brendan hears bitterness creep into his voice but it seems unimportant right now._

_"So, don't keep me waiting. What can I do for you today?"_

_"All business aren't you, Brendan? I need something dealt with, discreetly," he says slowly, "and I need it dealing with in a way that it will never be linked to me."_

_He goes silent and Brendan considers his words carefully, thinks it must be his turn to speak but then Walker goes on._

_"I need it to look like an accident - "_

Brendan shudders from the memory but he gets it now, the reason Walker didn't violate Steven, his bitterness on the phone, the regret in the warehouse. He'd related Steven to his brother, just another person's life that Brendan had tainted. He'd felt empathy with him. It's interesting and Brendan logs it away; Walker's such an enigma that any information is important to him right now.

"Anyway," Steven says, snapping him out of his thoughts, "that's when he phoned you up. We didn't talk too much after that, not about anything important anyway."

They sit in silence for a while, Brendan tense and Steven watching him.

"My turn?" he asks eventually.

"Whatever you feel like saying, I'm listening," Steven echoes the words Brendan had said last night in the bathroom.

He thinks about his Nana, what he'd said to her before he'd - before she'd died, how he'd listed the things she'd robbed him of and how Steven had been on that list. Brendan looks up at him, sat here at his kitchen table, _still here_ despite everything, still trying to understand him, still a support.

"Nana wanted to go to the holiday home. It was this cottage on the beach, nothing else around for miles, really beautiful. It was nearly the end and she wanted to spend her last few days there, somewhere she'd felt happy," Brendan tells him, laughs bitterly, "at least that's what we thought she wanted. That wasn't it though, that wasn't the reason. She had something to do before she died, something she needed to confess - "

His heart is pounding again and he starts to feel lightheaded.

"She needed to tell me that she couldn't stop him, that she didn't even try," his hands are shaking and he thinks, hysterically, that he might be having a stroke or something. "She knew what he did to me and she didn't stop him, she didn't do anything, she didn't - "

"Brendan," he hears a soft voice say. He can't see, feels like he's drowning in blackness. There's a warm hand on his shoulder, his neck,_ fingers pressing into him, stubble against his throat -_ no it's not real, it's the past. He pushes the memories away, locks them up tight where he doesn't have to face them, but the pressure on his shoulder remains.

"Brendan, look at me," the voice says again and he does, helpless to disobey.

"I killed her," he says, blinks rapidly and sees Steven's worried face come into focus. "I held her tight until she stopped breathing, _I_ _took her life away_."

Steven expression turns from concern to horror.

"You killed her?"

He nods.

There's the too loud scrape of chair legs on the tiled floor and Steven's on his feet, agitated and pulling on his bottom lip. He walks into the kitchen, fidgets and paces, looks like a caged animal and Brendan turns in his chair to face him.

"Don't hate me," he begs in a small voice, hates how much like a little boy he sounds. "_Please_, please don't hate me - "

Steven stops moving and looks at him sharply. Brendan can't bare to look at his face, stares at the marks marring his body instead.

"I don't hate you," he says, stuffy and high like he's crying and Brendan looks up to see that he is, after everything this is what has finally broken him down. "I wish to God I could hate you, Brendan."

Steven staggers forward and literally collapses to his knees right in front of him. He puts both hands on Brendan's thighs and rests his forehead on his knee.

"I know what it's like to have someone who should of protected you just stand back and do nothing," he says, voice muffled, "but the things you're capable of. It scares me."

Brendan feels Steven's tears soak through the material of his pants. He reaches out to cup his neck and pull him up close until he's knelt between Brendan's legs, face buried in his neck and Brendan can wrap him up completely with his body. He knows? He _knows. _Brendan doesn't have it in him to ask how, not yet.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you," Steven says and sniffles. "I'm sorry for what it's done to you."

Brendan nods against him, doesn't know what to say so he just clings tighter.

"Did he ever pay for it?"

"No," he replies, flat and exhausted. "No-one else knows, not even Cheryl."

"Where is he now?"

"I dunno. Belfast somewhere I think, I haven't seen him in a long time."

Steven pulls back, fingers fiddling with the string on Brendan's hoodie.

"Did it make you feel any better? What you did to your nan?" he asks softly and Brendan thinks it's the worse thing he could ask because he honestly doesn't know the answer. He shrugs, shakes his head, can't begin to string the words together to form a reply to that.

"I'm not trying to put any pressure on or anything but I think you should tell Cheryl about the abuse," Steven says instead. "I think she needs to know, I think it might help her understand some things better."

"It's not a get out of jail free card, Steven. She walked in on me _cutting up a dead body_," he points out. He can't lay that on Cheryl's shoulders, anyway. For her to find out would be the worst thing in the world.

"I know, I'm not saying it'll make her forget about what you've done but it's just - " he huffs a frustrated sigh, " - you shouldn't have ever had to deal with this on your own - and you don't have to anymore."

Brendan looks at him, bruised and battered and exhausted on the floor of his kitchen, and can't believe he could ever deserve this.

"Why?" he asks softly. "Why are you doing this?"

There's a moment of silence where Steven studies him carefully, eyes flicking over his face, and Brendan thinks, shit, has he really just opened _that_ can of worms?

"Well I tried to hate you, tried to avoid you, tried to off you with a baseball bat but none of that really worked out," Steven says simply with a shaky, watery smile. "Plus you did rescue me so I suppose you're kind of my hero."

Against all odds, Brendan actually can't stop the laugh bubbling from his throat. He shakes his head to clear it.

"I'm serious," he insists and thinks, shit, fucking stupid again, why does he keep pushing this when he knows the answer will bring both of them nothing but heartache? Is he _that_ masochistic?

Steven looks suddenly furious.

"Because I can't pretend that I don't care about you anymore. I worry about what kind of trouble you're getting yourself into _all the time._ In the past two years you've become one of the most important people in my _whole life_," he stresses, voice full of passionate conviction. "I think that you need help and I _want_ to help you, I want you to just let me."

Brendan's floored by him, his words, the conviction in his voice, the determination on his face, everything. He hadn't expected something quite so revealing.

"I don't know if I can," he says honestly.

"Do you want to?"

"I don't want you to get hurt again, Steven."

"Then don't hurt me."

"What are you offering here?" Brendan asks frantically, feels this conversation has flown wildly out of his grasp.

"Whatever you're willing to take," Steven says, simply, like it's that easy. Like he's just freed himself from some kind of self-imposed restraint and he's opening up to every possibility.

_A near death experience will do that to a man._

"I can't, not that," Brendan says, bordering on freaking the fuck out because he can't have this. He _promised_ himself he'd never be that selfish again and Steven's vulnerable, they both are, shaken up and in no fit state to make decisions, but it's so difficult to look into that face and not want everything. "I need you, Steven, I do. You're just - you're one of the most important people in my life too but I can't take that from you, I won't."

Steven swallows audibly and he nods.

"Okay," he says shakily and puts his hands on Brendan's shoulders to lever himself off the floor. "But just so you know, you can't protect me from everything."

"I can try," he replies immediately.

Steven looks down at him, his expression sad but resigned and Brendan has to resist the urge to take back his convictions. The moment is broken by a wide yawn that makes Steven sway on his feet a little and Brendan stands up and grips him tightly under his elbows.

"I think you need to go to bed," he says firmly, "not sayin' you have to sleep, just lie down before you fall down."

"You never told me what Walker asked you to do," Steven pouts stubbornly, trying to deflect him.

"I promise I will, just not now," Brendan tells him seriously, hopes that by now Steven will believe him. "Come on, bed."

"Don't wanna wake up Amy," Steven mumbles tiredly.

"Then take my room, I'm not planning on getting any sleep any time soon," he says keeping one hand on Steven's arm and steering him through the flat and into the bedroom. "Get in, I'll fetch you some water."

Brendan runs the cold tap for a while, takes the moment to lean his elbows on the sink and bury his face in his hands. He can't begin to process even half of that conversation, feels like he's been drinking and rambling and at some point later he's going to sober up and everything he's said will crash down around him.

He'd just told Steven almost _everything_ and the world hadn't ended, in fact it had suddenly gotten a hell of a lot easier to live in. This isn't supposed to be how it feels. It's like he's floating, high, in a bubble and at some point it has to burst. The happiness before the fall will make it that much harder to bear.

He fills a glass with water and heads for the bedroom but he's stopped short in the doorway. Steven's laid in his bed, covers pulled up over his nose so all Brendan can see are his eyes and tufts of his hair peaking out. Brendan stubbornly refuses to pull any kind of simpering or adoring face, refuses to even _think_ the word 'aww'. He will _not_ be charmed by this.

Steven watches his advance across the bedroom to put the glass on the bedside table and peers up at him through ridiculously long eyelashes. Brendan folds his arms across his chest and looks down at him sternly. It takes him less than five seconds to break and reach down to ruffle Steven's hair.

"Try and rest," he says softly, "you need it."

He stands to leave and gets as far as the door before Steven's pleading voice reaches out to him, so quiet he barely hears it, "stay," and he could carry on and pretend he never heard but that's not even an option.

He sighs and does an obvious, sweeping turn and strides back to the bed, stripping off his hoody dramatically as he goes. It makes Steven breathe a small laugh and shuffle across to make room, pulling back the covers for him. Brendan gets in, instantly warmed by the bit of mattress Steven way just laying on, and tucks the covers around himself.

They lay facing each other and Brendan sees clearly on Steven's face the fragile vulnerability that he's been hiding since they got back to the flat. He's obviously too tired and emotionally wrung out now to put up any kind of stubborn front. Brendan wonders if their honesty in the kitchen has destroyed any need for Steven to wear it around him.

He itches to comfort but can't find the words; instead Brendan slides the arm he's laying on underneath the pillow under Steven's head, puts the other around his narrow shoulders and pulls him close. He tucks Steven's head under his chin and wraps him up tight in his arms, warm and safe.

The scent of his own shampoo fills him as he buries his face in Steven's hair. He feels tension bleed out of him as they breathe in tandem and he's comfortable and calm for the first time in days, has absolutely zero desire to move, limbs heavy as lead. He yawns around a mouthful of hair, surprised to find he's actually sleepy.

"Knew you were tired," Steven murmurs softly against Brendan's throat.

"You sneaky fucker," he says drowsily, too impressed to be the slightest bit affronted.

Steven says nothing but Brendan feels the brush of his lips against his adam's apple and his warm breath as he sighs contentedly.

They're both asleep in seconds.


	8. you're every colour that i'll ever paint

Warnings: None in this chapter, really.

Word Count: ~2100

Title and lyrics from Rabbit Holes by Paper Routes.

* * *

_i'm jumping out of your crashing plane_

_i wanna fall straight through your name_

_in every turn of my twisting veins_

_you're in everything, everything_

He wakes up slowly, feeling languid and peaceful. His limbs are heavy and he flexes his fingers into the warm material of his t-shirt, the movement lazy and slow. His body wakes up bit by bit, awareness creeping in gradually. He's on his back, one arm folded across his middle, the other thrown out to the side and pushed into the pillows by a solid weight.

He turns his head and opens one eye and is greeted by the back of a blonde head, the slope of a slender neck, the length of a curved spine covered by a clinging t-shirt. When he tries to move the fingers of his trapped hand Brendan feels Steven's fingers intertwined with his own.

He turns onto his side, slides his free hand lazily over Steven's waist and slips his fingers under the t-shirt. He presses his fingers into warm skin, pushes further under and spreads his palm across Steven's belly; hears Steven's breath hitch, the familiar sound settling warmly in his blood and making his dick start to fill.

He presses his body closer, pulls Steven back into his chest until there's no space between them, slips one leg between Steven's and pushes his half-hard dick against the swell of his arse. He feels Steven's body start to wake up properly, his sleepy fingers squeezing Brendan's own and his foot slipping back and hooking around the back of Brendan's ankle. When Steven rolls his hips back against him, Brendan buries his lips in the back of his neck and moans softly; the slow friction so satisfying.

"Brendan - "

Steven's voice is soft and pleading, he rolls his hips again and Brendan suddenly wakes right the fuck up.

He jerks back like he's been burned, sitting up with not one part of his body touching _any_ part of Steven's. His breathing is heavy and his heart is hammering, the sensation of Steven's body arching back into his lingering over every inch of his skin.

Steven rolls to face him, face flushed and eyes bright and begging under his eyelashes.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," Brendan says breathlessly, covers in place to hide his seriously uncomfortable hard-on. "Half asleep, must of thought I was dreaming or something."

Steven sits up on his elbows next to him, legs spread and bent at the knees and Brendan has to turn to stare straight forward, daren't look at him for fear of losing all his self control.

"Not a dream, Brendan," he says quietly, voice low and rumbling pleasantly.

He chances a glance out of the corner of his eye and watches as Steven tips his head back and swallows, his eyes fluttering closed and it's nearly enough to break Brendan's resolve; the things he wants to do to him all right there in front of his eyes like a filthy picture book.

Steven's eyes meet his and linger, the moment instantly thick with longing. Brendan feels them gravitate together against his own will, drawn by some irresistible force; Steven sits up, hardly any space between them, and Brendan leans his weight onto one arm so he can face him.

Steven's eyes drop to his lips and Brendan sees the tip of his tongue touch the corner of his mouth. The air feels heavy heavy and sweet like syrup and he imagines the wet slide of that tongue against his own, the drag of soft lips, the burn of morning stubble on his face.

It would be so easy to dissolve that gap.

He wrenches the words he'd said earlier out of some dark corner of his brain - _I can't take that_ - and thinks that he'd like to check his watch right now to see what record time he'd managed to completely fail. Brendan forces himself to look at the bruises covering Steven's neck, the bandages on his wrists, the cut on his cheek; forces himself to remember Walker and his knife and his stone cold conviction.

It dampens his ardour somewhat, enough for him to whisper, "I'm sorry," and swing his legs off the side of the bed to make for the door. He risks one glance back and regrets it, Steven looking up at him, flushed, legs sprawled, loose and inviting and _hard_.

"I'm gonna go make a cuppa, want one?" he asks possibly the most ridiculous question anyone has ever asked in the history of the Universe but it breaks the spell and Steven seems to snap back to himself. He blushes furiously, pulls his knees up to wrap his arms around protectively and nods like he can't trust himself to speak.

Brendan leaves the room and wishes, for all the world, to hear what Steven might say right now if he could.

* * *

It's 1pm by the kitchen clock and Brendan finds Amy sat at the table staring off into space. She's so preoccupied she doesn't hear him come in and he has some time to compose himself, get his body back under control and push the images of Steven, needy and beautiful, out of his brain. He clicks on the kettle and thinks, vaguely, that this kettle's been used more times in the past twelve hours than it has in its entire life.

"Amy?" he waves his hand in front of her face and she blinks slowly and looks at him, "you okay?"

"Don't think I've woken up yet," she says faintly and yawns. "Yes please."

She's gesturing towards the boiling kettle.

"You just been waiting out here for someone to come and make you a drink?" he asks sarcastically. He expects a laugh but instead he gets a measured glare and preempts it by putting his hands up where she can see them.

"Ste wasn't in bed when I woke up," she says carefully. "Wasn't in the bathroom or down here either."

"He was up with me earlier, neither of us could sleep," Brendan explains quickly, "we talked and he was exhausted and he didn't wanna go up and disturb you so I put him in my bed."

"In _your _room, where you just came out of?"

The question rings out around the room while he bashes the cups and jars around loud enough to have a reason to ignore it and look busy. He can't do it forever, though, so he pours the boiled water and turns to face her.

"Nothing happened, Amy. We just slept," he says as earnestly as he can; it's not entirely true but he exercised enough self-control in there to win him a damn medal so it's as good as as far as he's concerned. "I wouldn't do that."

"I know," she sighs and runs one hand through her hair. "I'm sorry I asked, I didn't actually think you would have."

"It's okay, my reputation isn't exactly squeaky clean now is it?" he quips and this time she does crack a smile. He finishes the drinks and puts a cup down in front of her, marvels at the surreal fact he now has committed to memory exactly how Amy Barnes takes her tea.

He's about to take Steven the other cup when he silently materialises in Brendan's bedroom doorway like a messy-haired, bed-rumpled ninja, stopping him short, and they just stand and stare at each other awkwardly.

"Tea," Brendan says like an idiot at the same time as Steven does and _Christ_, what do they do to each other? Luckily, Steven spots Amy and gestures over. Brendan nods and goes to sit down.

"Hiya," he says, kissing her on the cheek and sitting down at the head of the table in a casual display of domesticity that makes Brendan's stomach clench a little. He puts down the mugs and slides into the seat opposite Amy.

"How you feeling?" she asks Steven, grabs one of his hands and holds it tightly in both her own.

"Not bad," Steven tells her reassuringly but she's not buying it, Brendan can tell by her expression, Steven too and he huffs. "I feel dog-rough, Ames, what do you want me to say?"

"Did you get some sleep at least?"

"Yeah, actually," he says, eyes flicking over and meeting Brendan's for just a second and then he quietly mumbles, "slept quite well."

They chatter on and it's nice, peaceful and domestic in a way so far detached from the last two days it seems surreal. Brendan loathes to disturb the air of tranquility that they all deserve right now but there's still an ever looming, Walker shaped threat to contend with.

"Have either of you thought anymore about Ireland?"

"Yeah, I have actually," Amy announces and Steven turns to look at her curiously but her attention's fixed on Brendan. "How are you proposin' we do this?"

He's so relieved she's given it the serious consideration she promised last night that he could kiss her.

"I keep an ear out for news of Walker and if there's no sign of him by tomorrow we go fetch the kids from Mike's, drive to Liverpool Port and hop on a ferry to Dublin," he explains, "it'll be a squeeze in the car I know but if we go when it's dark it shouldn't be a problem. Or I suppose we could fly if you preferred? We can always sort the logistics out when we really need to."

"You've really thought about this then? You're serious about doing it?"

"Absolutely," he says firmly. "After what happened in that warehouse - "

He stops, catches Steven's eye because he wants him to take this on board.

" - I don't think there's anything Walker wouldn't do right now and Steven's just gone on his hit list, I guarantee it," he says darkly. "I can't be sure that he won't come after you and the kids, Amy."

"And how long d'you think we're gonna have to stay away?" she asks. "I mean, we can't afford to be paying for hotels for weeks on end."

"That's why I chose Dublin," he tells her. "I've got a flat over there. It's a big place and Walker doesn't know anything about it, it's not even in my name - very private."

She gives him an impressed look and asks, "okay, what do you think, Ste?

"I think we should go. I don't even like the thought of waiting until tomorrow if I'm really honest," Steven says quickly, shaking his head. "I'd really like to get as far away from here as possible."

Steven's honesty seems to settle it and Amy nods and smiles at him reassuringly.

"Let's go to Dublin then," she says a little breathlessly, like she can't quite believe she's saying the words.

"Ah, we need to run all this by Cheryl first, remember," Brendan interjects. "I ain't going anywhere without her."

"I'll go," a soft voice rings out over their heads and all three of them turn to look up at the staircase. Cheryl's sat on one of the top steps, arms wrapped around her knees, watching them.

Brendan stands and goes over to the railings without taking his eyes off her, reaches up and grips the bars with both his hands.

"You sure, sis?"

"Yeah, if that's what's going to keep us safe, then that's what we have to do," she says fairly. "Plus I haven't visited Dublin in years, it might be nice."

Brendan stares, still can't look away, and feels himself slump with relief, tension draining out of him. He adores her so much right now he feels overwhelmed. Cheryl must see something on his face, he's not even trying to hide it, and she shuffles down to the landing to touch his fingers with hers briefly before standing up.

"I notice I'm the only one who doesn't have a cuppa, anyone feel like correcting that?"

Brendan laughs, actually _laughs_, clear and real and heads into the kitchen gladly. Cheryl was right, tea does help in every situation. It seems to be becoming a _thing _that they _do _now.

"What do we do until tomorrow then?" Steven asks and then covers his mouth with both hands as he yawns.

"_You _- get more sleep," Brendan says, pointing at him sternly, "everyone else, watch telly or something, read a book, you ain't leaving the house."


	9. the walls they're closing in

Warnings: Allusions to the onset of post traumatic stress disorder.

Notes: Just a heads up that two chapters have gone up today in case anyone missed the previous one - don't want anyone confused because the story suddenly doesn't make sense :D

Word Count: ~4900

Title and lyrics from the song Slow It Down by the Lumineers.

* * *

_i never, she never, we never looked back_

_that wasn't what we were good at_

_and when it came to love_

_we were not good enough _

Ste reaches across to the bedside table to grab his phone and hopes it might tell him that, by some miracle, he did actually manage to drift off to sleep. 4:08pm. That's a no then.

An hour and a half ago, Brendan, Cheryl and Amy had given him some kind of weird joint lecture in tandem about him needing rest and packed him off to Lynsey's room to bed like a kid past his bedtime and he'd spent most of the time since then tossing and turning.

His mind is racing too much to drift off properly and he's alert and restless. His heart keeps randomly palpitating, making him edgy and unable to relax and he's still nauseous and sore all over. He doesn't want to get up, doesn't want to lay down, doesn't know what the hell he wants. Well, he knows one thing he wants, wants it so unexpectedly and with such a single-minded intensity that he's reeling with it. Ste knows it wouldn't take much to crumble Brendan's resolve right now. Three words. A look, a touch.

He also knows that it wouldn't be fair to either of them if he took advantage of that knowledge.

Instead he focuses on what's right in front of him, the threat of Walker, Ireland, an uncertain future. The completely mundane fact that he's extremely thirsty.

The past two days are a blur that he can hardly process. Memories keep flashing back to him like the broken up pieces of some crazy, drunken night out: snatches of conversations, people's worried faces, the tearing of skin and muscle under his fist. He's fairly certain that this morning Brendan had told him he'd murdered his nan. He's also pretty sure that he threw himself at Brendan on his fucking knees and offered him everything he had left to give. Nothing seems to have any resonance at the moment, nothing feels real. Nothing except the wet slide of Brendan's tongue in his mouth last night by the side of the road and the slow grind of their bodies this morning in Brendan's room.

The loneliness of the bed gnaws at him like a physical pain, brings with it vague sense memories: fear and helplessness, trying to claw his way hopelessly into consciousness only to have it ripped away from him by waves of lethargy and numbness. Earlier, wrapped up in Brendan's strong arms, pressed close to a warm body, had made him feel safe enough to let his guard down and actually sleep. Now he's cold and uncomfortable, too small for all this space. He doesn't really crave company, he just wants Brendan, solid and real.

He suddenly wants air.

* * *

The stairs creak under his feet as he makes his way down them. A quick sweep of the living room reveals Amy and Cheryl sat on the sofa, huddled around the laptop and talking quietly and yet the room feels oddly empty all the same.

The girls look back when he gets to the bottom step and he offers them the least pathetic smile he can manage. It feels more like a grimace.

"Hey, love," Cheryl says brightly, "did you get any sleep?"

"A bit, yeah," he lies and heads into the kitchen and fills a glass with water, drains it in a few gulps but it does little to ease the dry scratch of his throat. "Where's Brendan?"

"He's outside making a phone call, I'd rather not know who to if I'm honest."

"About Walker?" He takes a seat on the coffee table, wraps his arms around himself in a shiver.

"Yeah, see if anyone he knows has gotten wind of him," she tells him, looks uncomfortable with the idea but beggars can't be choosers at this point. There isn't room on that high ground anymore for any of them.

She gets up to pull the gaudy, pink blanket from the other sofa and drapes it around his shoulders, looking concerned. Ste pulls it close but the warmth hardly touches him. He aches from head to toe, still, and there's an uncomfortable pressure that's taken up permanent residence behind his eyes. The bruised and tender feeling in his stomach hasn't eased since yesterday.

"Thanks. What are you two doin' anyway?" he asks, gesturing to the computer.

"Cheryl's showing me some of the stuff we can do with the kids in Dublin. I know it's not exactly a normal holiday but it doesn't mean we can't make it special for 'em," Amy explains, turning the screen to face him. The bright colours and glare hurt his eyes.

"Yeah, looks good," he says, runs his suddenly shaking fingers through his hair. "Look, I'm just goin' outside. I need some fresh air."

He gets up quickly, leaving the blanket in a heap on the table, and rushes for the door, fumbles it open and practically falls out of it onto the balcony. He leans back against it with a heavy slam, vision off-kilter, and sees Brendan turn from where's he's standing against the railings.

" - I'll call you back, yeah, bye."

Ste watches the mist of his breath puff out of him in ragged bursts and his heart pounds so heavily his whole body rattles with it. Brendan's there in a second, hands on his bare arms and trying to catch his attention.

"I'm fine. Don't even ask, _please,_" he pre-empts the inevitable question and can't meet Brendan's eyes. He doesn't mean his words to sound so desperate, so angry. Brendan doesn't say anything, just rubs his palms up and down Ste's shivering arms until he can finally breathe, until he realises the reason he's shaking is because he's freezing.

"Come on, go back inside before you get hypothermia," Brendan says finally, carefully like he might set Ste off again.

"No, I just need to breathe," he chokes out unevenly. This is the weirdest reaction to a camp and colourful website he's ever had, that's for certain.

Brendan tuts and sighs then wrangles himself out of his grey hoodie and slings it around Ste's shoulders, prodding him to slide his arms into the sleeves and zipping it up. He feels dopey and useless because he's not capable of doing anything but standing there, shivering and watching the ground.

Brendan puts one palm on the wall next to his head and leans against it, not close enough to suffocate but not far enough for Ste to start panicking again. He wants to reach out and touch, knows it would help, but Brendan's rejection is too raw. They desperately need space and Ste is struggling to give it to them.

"I'm alright," he says eventually, finally looks up into Brendan's concerned face.

"You don't have to be alright."

"I don't know why I just flipped out."

"Because you've had a trauma, it's normal."

Normal. Nothing about this is normal. He forces himself to nod, to try and give Brendan a smile that looks genuine. He sees through it straight away.

"Don't do that, I hate it when you - " Brendan says hurried and forceful, voice breaking a little. He looks down at the ground, swallows heavily. "Just – don't rush it, you'll be okay when you're okay."

"Great, brilliant," Ste says dryly and Brendan raises an eyebrow at him. He's so sick of talking about himself. "Any news on Walker?"

"Nothin'. Wasn't expecting it to be honest," he sighs. "Looks like we should start putting together a proper plan for tomorrow."

"We should fly," he says faintly, stuck on a memory in his head. "I took Leah on the Mersey ferry once and I had to hold her up against the railings the whole time so she could throw up."

Brendan gives him a fond, understanding smile. "I know what that's like. When Deccy was a boy we had to dope him up with travel sickness pills and take paper bags in the car anytime we had to drive for more than half an hour."

"Yeah, Leah's the same with cars. It's part of the reason I never bothered getting' one after Amy moved to Manchester."

"Would any insurance company even touch you with a ten foot pole?"

"No, that was the other reason," he chuckles, a breathless laugh, and feels a small but genuine smile pull at his mouth. The rise and fall of his chest is easier, his heart calmer.

"Did you get any sleep?" Brendan asks, a not so subtle subject change. He considers lying for the sake of ease but finds he doesn't want to, not to Brendan.

"No," he says truthfully.

"Aren't you exhausted?"

"I suppose, I dunno. I lie down and then nothing 'appens." Neither of them bring up the fact that he slept fine this morning, curled up and tangled with Brendan. "Lot on my mind."

Brendan chuckles. "Understatement of the century."

"Everything we talked about this mornin' - " he says hesitantly, watches Brendan's face drop. "It was a lot to take in, wasn't it?"

Brendan breathes an almost silent, "yeah," and looks down at the floor. Ste resist the urge to grab his face and force him to meet his eyes. He doesn't want them to shy away from the things that they said to each other, it doesn't feel right after everything.

"I meant what I said earlier," he says softly and Brendan suddenly looks up with wide-eyed warning on his face and Ste thinks _shit_ and amends hurriedly, "about wanting to help, about being there for you, not the other stuff. Well, no, I meant the other stuff aswell, but – I wasn't tryin' it on with you, not just then anyway, I mean not before either but - "

He just _stops_ talking and looks straight forward, through the railings, out across the village, away from Brendan. He's never wished so badly for some horrible catastrophe to happen, a fucking asteroid to strike, a wild bear attack, anything. He jumps a bit when Brendan nudges his arm with his shoulder and dares a quick glance. The bastards actually smiling at him. Fucker.

"I know what you meant. I appreciate it, I really do," he says warmly.

"So - no more secrets? You and me, everything out in the open?"

"I promise you that I'll try," Brendan sighs softly and Ste believes him. It has to be good enough because it's more than he ever imagined. "Anyway, Come on. We got stuff to talk about inside." Brendan opens the front door and puts a hand on his waist to steer him through.

* * *

They sit around the dining table, Brendan had herded them there for some kind of lunch/dinner buffet of sandwiches which Cheryl had hastily put together, with the laptop at the head showing some last minute plane booking website.

"I think we should give it two weeks, the staff at the club can just about handle that long without us, Douglas can take care of the deli, you okay to take a break from college for that long, Amy?" Brendan asks. Ste watched him go into full on organisational mode as soon as they got inside. He'd always enjoyed watching Brendan take care of business - the man _owns_ that look.

"Yeah, that's fine. I'm more worried about Leah being away from school for that long but - " Amy trails off, looks at Ste.

"And there'll be trouble from her teachers, we'll need a good excuse," he adds. The last thing they want is anyone official sniffing around.

"Say it's educational," Cheryl offers. "Dublin has tons of history and museums."

"It's okay, we'll think of something," she sighs, pulls her hands through her hair. "Their safety's more important than a fifty quid fine."

"I need to go and speak to Doug, make sure he's okay on his own for that long."

"It's okay, I'll go round and speak to Douglas," Brendan says breezily. "Chez you phone Rhys, Amy you get in touch with Mike, see if he can think of any - "

"What? No," Ste interrupts, "Doug's a friend. I want to go see him."

"Well, I'll come with you then."

"I don't need a chaperone," he snaps, can tell Brendan's gearing up for an argument by the way he pulls in a long breath through his nose.

"You wanna go walkin' about on your own after what happened?"

"It's next door, like two feet away. What exactly d'you think is gonna happen?"

"What do I - _fine_, you go then."

"Fine, I will."

They stare at each other over the table and the room falls awkwardly silent. The pull of Brendan's glare makes him feel hot all over and he suddenly almost wants an all out fight, anything to just use up this torturous, jittering energy that won't leave him alone, anything to just get his damn hands on Brendan and _touch _him, rough him up and get close and physical and _God _the thought is too much and he needs to get away. His head's a wreck.

"Ste, you haven't eaten anything," Amy says quietly, lays her hand gently on his arm.

"I'm fine, I'm really not hungry," he says and gives her a tight smile that she clearly doesn't buy. "I'll be back in a bit."

He kisses her on the cheek, pushes back his chair and stands up, doesn't look at Brendan at all as he heads for the door.

"Make sure you've got your - " Brendan's voice calls out in his direction.

"Phone, yeah, I've got it," he calls back, opens the door and jams his hands into the pockets of the borrowed, too-big hoodie before braving the cold once again.

* * *

"Don't -" Ste warns, holds up a stern finger in front of him as Leanne tries to fling her arms around him in the doorway.

"Don't be so miserable, we thought you were dead," she tuts, gives him a look up and down.

"Well, I'm obviously - "

"Poor baby, you've lost so much weight," she croons. "What did he do to you? Was it like Silence of the Lambs?"

"I was gone for, like, a day, Leanne, I'm - "

"You must be so traumatised. If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, y'know, someone to really talk to and open up to - I'm your girl," she says with a sympathetic smile.

"Yeah, you're a really great listener, Leanne," he deadpans and it just makes her smile wider. "Can I come in?"

"Oh, you wanna do it now? I'll go get the box of tissues." He opens his mouth to stop her but it's no use, she's gone.

The flat looks a mess, exactly the same as if had when he'd come in last night, like everyone had just sacked off and gone straight to bed the second they'd left. He sees Doug laid out on the sofa fast asleep, picks up the little home-sweet-home teddy bear from the table next to the door and lobs it at him full pelt.

"Wha - " he jumps up, spluttering and flailing his arms about before he gets his bearings. Ste doesn't even try to stifle his laugh and Doug looks up, his entire face lighting up when catches Ste's eye. "Jesus."

He jumps up and strides over, wraps Ste up in a warm hug and squeezes him so tight that his spine cracks, then he grabs hold of Ste's wrist and drags him over to dump down on the sofa.

"Alright, Doug," he laughs. "I missed you too."

"You have no idea. I swear, Ste," Doug shakes his head, "I thought - "

"I know."

"How bad was it?" he asks and Ste appreciates the straight-forwardness of his question.

"Quite bad," he says and barely registers deciding to speak let alone what he's going to say before blurting out, "it wasn't a real ransom, he was plannin' on killin' me."

He doesn't know what he expects, maybe that saying it out loud might make it real, maybe that it would give what happened to him some weight, but he feels no reaction from the words. He was seconds away from death and it still doesn't feel real.

"Fuck," is all Doug says in reply.

"Yeah."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not even a little bit."

"Oi, I was here first, Doug. Shove off and get your own kidnapped friend," Leanne chimes in from the stairs, box of tissues in one hand, other on her hip like a stern school teacher or a stroppy five year old.

"Leanne, will you give us a minute, please? He's been through enough without _your_ sympathy to make it worse."

Ste tips his head back against the back of the sofa and listens to them bicker for a bit. It's such a familiar sound, something he hears almost daily but right now he feels so far detached from it. It feels like something from a past life, something that's not relevant to him anymore and the loss of such an important comfort scares him. _You don't have to be alright_.

"Hey, you oka - "

"Don't – don't ask me if I'm okay, please," he says quickly. Realises Leanne has disappeared and wonders how long he was spaced out for just then.

"Well, it might amuse you up to know that I think I owe Brendan a grudging apology," Doug says after a moment, pulls an over-exaggerated, irritated face - one eyebrow raised comically with a long-suffering smile. It makes Ste chuckle.

"Will you do it when I'm there? I'd really love to see that."

"No way. Tell him to expect a letter. I don't think I could actually say it to his face, far too humiliating."

"Come on then, what 'appened? How did you end up becoming HQ to team Brady-to-the-rescue?"

Doug looks at him softly, sighs and takes a deep breath. "I called him when we couldn't find you, thought maybe that – you know - "

Ste smirks, he knows. "Thought I was off shaggin' him?"

Doug throws his head back and laughs. "Yeah, pretty much. Anyway he came round here like a bat out of Hell and I started kicking off, accused him of basically signing your death sentence." He looks down at his hands, picks at a stray bit of cotton on his t-shirt. "I was a bit of a mess and I really wasn't helping anyone."

"It's okay, Doug, you don't 'ave anything to feel bad for," Ste says, gives him a little shove. "It was a weird night for all of us. Amy told me you looked out for her the whole time Brendan was out doin' whatever it was he did for Walker and it means the world to me."

"Doing what?" Doug asks with a frown, "he said Walker wanted money."

Ste halts, memory vivid in his head. _I did what you asked, Walker._ No money changed hands in that warehouse. Whatever it was, Brendan obviously didn't share the details with anybody and it worries him. "Umm, yeah, yeah, that's what I meant."

"Well, Amy did a pretty good job of looking out for herself. Girl's like a rock."

"_I dunno how I held it together, I just kept thinkin' over and over in my head what I'd tell the kids if you didn't come home," Amy says quietly, muffled by the duvet pulled right up to her chin. Ste reaches across the gap between them in Lynsey's bed and tangles their fingers together under the covers. "I had all these bloody euphemisms for death in my head; daddy's gone off with the angels, he's up in the sky watching over you both. He's with Auntie Sarah - "_

_With that she chokes, buries her face against the pillow and Ste snuggles closer, nudges their foreheads together._

"_I'm okay, Amy, we're all okay now."_

He flinches back from the hand waving in front of his face, looks up into Doug's frown.

"Where'd you go just then?"

"Nowhere. Thinkin' how to ask you a massive favour, actually," he says sheepishly. "I mean it, it's a big one."

"Okay, go ahead."

"We need to get away from here for a couple of weeks, all of us, Amy and me and the kids, Cheryl and Brendan. We need to get somewhere safe until Walker's caught."

"And you need me to take care of the business while you're gone?"

"Told you it was massive."

"Hey," Doug says, puts a hand on his arm. "It's fine, I mean it. You guy's safety is the most important thing here and I can take care of the deli for as long as you need. I'll put up an ad, get some part-time help. Plus, I got the girls."

"You sure?" Ste asks, tension starting to flow out of him like steam from a broken pipe.

"Absolutely, don't worry about it. As of now I am taking over all of your deli related responsibilities."

Ste slumps forward into him like a puppet with it's strings cut, face mashed uncomfortably against Doug's arm, literally feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He sighs into the cotton of Doug's t-shirt sleeve and chuffs a laugh when he pats Ste on the back of the head like a dog.

"If you're planning on going to sleep there could you please not dribble on me."

* * *

They chatter for a while longer, Doug filling him in on some of the events from last night, until Ste's itching to leave. He feels like electricity is skittering under his skin and he can hardly sit still, leg bouncing and hands fidgeting. He says his goodbyes to Doug at the outside door, gives him a tight hug and they make a plan to get in touch only in the case of an emergency, just in case Walker gets his hands on Doug's phone. There's even a codeword.

"Take care, Dougie."

"Yeah, you too," he replies but he's looking over Ste's shoulder distractedly. His gaze snaps back and his expression is serious. "Be careful, okay?"

"I will."

"I mean - " he looks past Ste again and he turns around. Brendan's leaning against the wall outside his flat, casual as you like. " - _be careful_."

"I will be, I promise," he says softly and Doug gives him a small, sad smile before he closes the door.

Ste approaches Brendan slowly, drinks in the sight of him like spending half an our out of his company has left him dehydrated. "Thought I said I didn't need a chaperone."

"What, a man can't stand outside his own front door now?"

"Just gettin' some air, was ya?" he asks breezily, leans one shoulder against the wall at Brendan's side.

"Yup."

Ste looks down at the ground, scuffs the heel of his trainer against the concrete. "Thanks."

"For getting air?"

"Nooo," he tuts. "For – for doing your typical Brendan _thing_." He waves his hand about, gestures up and down Brendan's body.

"And what _thing's_ that?" he asks, amused.

"The thing where you look out for me but don't turn it into a big thing."

"Oh, that thing?"

"I didn't mean to snap earlier. I know everyone's just worried." Ste realises, suddenly, that he feels calm again, grounded and balanced. Normal. Knackered, actually, like he could seriously sleep.

"Don't apologise, I shoulda' backed off," Brendan says with a shrug. "Just eat something, _please? _The girls think your on a hunger strike. Cheryl's personally offended that you don't wanna touch her sandwiches."

Ste's stomach roils and he shakes his head, can't even speak he feels so sick all of a sudden. He squeezes his eyes shut and leans his head against the cool wall.

"Can't you manage anything? Toast?" Ste shakes his head again and moans. "_Dry_ toast?"

"Stop sayin' food - "

"Just try? I don't wanna nag at you, but," he falls silent and Ste opens his eyes to peer up at him. There's a little vertical crease on his forehead, a little line of worry that Ste has the weirdest urge to poke. "I don't know how long you can run on no sleep and no food."

"Okay, fine," he concedes with a sigh. Brendan's right, he needs _something_. His legs are wobbly and his hands don't feel completely coordinated.

"Good boy, come on," Brendan says easily, crowds against him to direct him through the front door.

"Stop it, I'm not a sheep."

* * *

His head's spinning and he's hot and clammy all over. There's an agonising squeeze in his stomach and his mouth waters and he legs it upstairs leaving three people worriedly gawping after him. It'd taken him until late evening to work up the nerve to eat something and it's been half an hour since then - he'd thought he was in the clear. Turns out he was very wrong.

Ste flings open the bathroom door, collapses in front of the toilet and spills his guts up until he's coughing and dry heaving painfully, his shredded throat burning intensely and making his muscles seize and spasm.

When it's finally over he rests his cheek against the toilet seat, whole body shaking violently and tears blurring his vision. The ache in his body is indescribable and he doesn't know how much of this random pain and nausea and abstract, directionless fear he can take.

He vaguely hears the door creak and lock behind him and a glass of water materialises in front of his face which he takes with trembling hands. He sips it, swills his mouth out and spits, tastes salt from his tears when he drinks some down carefully. There's a thumb drawn softly across his cheek and he wants so badly to lean into Brendan's hand and let himself go, to fall into him and just _beg _ him to make everything better.

"Don't - " he rasps, moves his head back and away and Brendan looks down at the floor.

"Sorry."

Ste squeezes his eyes shut and feels his lip wobble. He's about one minute away from a full blown crying episode on the toilet floor like a jilted teenage girl at her prom, all he needs is mascara running down his face and his heels tossed into a corner.

"This is ridiculous," he chokes out wetly, swallows hard and buries his face against his arms across the toilet seat. Brendan doesn't try to touch him this time.

"At least you tried to get something down you," Brendan offers and Ste hiccups a dry scoff.

"Well I won't be tryin' again," he muffles.

"Just think, though: tomorrow Leah and Lucas are gonna be here and you've got two whole weeks to spend with them."

He rubs his face across the material of the arm of Brendan's hoodie, that he's _still_ wearing, to dry it before dragging his head up and nodding mutely. He hates the thought of his kids seeing him so beaten down but the anticipation of them coming is like waiting for a light to turn on and he aches to hold them in his arms and let all that goodness wash away the taint of the last few days.

A fresh wave of sickness rolls through him suddenly and he's doubled over the bowl again, nothing but bile coming up until he's so wrung out he can hardly move. This time he feels Brendan's hand smoothing up and down his back, fingers pressing into his shoulders and neck. It goes on for minutes after he's stopped heaving, calm and soothing. Ste's legs are hurting from the cold tiles and his head swims terribly.

"That it, now?" Brendan asks eventually and Ste nods.

He gets up into a crouch and hooks one arm around Ste's waist to haul him off the floor and Ste slumps against him, can hardly support his own weight and what's more dangerous is that he knows he doesn't have to, knows that Brendan will be there to make sure he doesn't fall. It scares him more than anything that he's developing a dependence on that fact. It makes it so difficult to clear that already blurred line between what they are and what they could be. "You wanna go lie down?"

"I wanna brush my teeth, actually," he says tiredly and Brendan chuffs a laugh and guides him over to the sink.


	10. looking back there you were

Notes: This one took a while because of personal things but from now on updates should be more regular. Title and lyrics from The Moody Blues - Isn't Life Strange.

Warnings: Allusions to difficult childhood experiences but nothing overt.

Word Count - ~5500

* * *

_isn't life strange_

_a turn of the page_

_can read like before_

_can we ask for more? _

The next morning Cheryl and Amy head off to Manchester to pick up the kids.

He'd spent the night curled up with Amy, drifting in and out of consciousness, jolting awake every time he went under too deep and trying not to toss and turn and unsettle the bed. He'd gotten up feeling woozy and weak and Amy had poured him a bowl of dry Cheerios which he'd picked at very carefully until he'd gotten - and kept - down half of them.

It was a little tradition that had started one day with a sick Leah and eventually branched out to all the family. When one of them had a poorly tummy the bowls of dry Cheerios had come out. Ste had been pretty sure that there hadn't been any in the flat yesterday and he has this hilarious mental image of Amy and Brendan going to fetch them from Price Slice because there's no way he'd let her walk down there on _her_ own and there's no way she'd trust _him_ with such an important mission on _his_ own. What if he got honey covered ones? Or a poor substitute like cornflakes?

He's so tired he's having imaginary conversation in his head about cereal and he finds himself dozing off in the car to the quiet rumble of the engine and the soft cadence of Brendan's voice as he hums to the radio. They're driving round to his flat to pack a suitcase because Brendan didn't even ask if Ste was strong enough to make the trip on foot. It's a good job, too, or he might have said yes.

"Steven - "

He startles awake and Brendan's looking, one hand outstretched but not quite touching him.

"Yeah, we 'ere?" he mumbles and Brendan nods, slow and concerned but Ste shakes it off.

They head up the path, Ste fumbling and dropping the keys which Brendan picks up and handles without missing a beat. Inside, Brendan follows him into his bedroom and gets the suitcase down from on top of the wardrobe as Ste flings open his drawers and haphazardly throws clothes in its general direction which Brendan grabs and folds and packs without needing to be asked.

"Please take this," he says from across the room and Ste turns and sees Brendan's holding up a yellow checked monstrosity that he'd actually once tried to argue was a decent shirt. He falls down onto the edge of the bed and laughs as Brendan holds it up against his body like he's modelling it. "Why are you laughing? I'm serious, I might wanna borrow it."

"I doubt it'd suit you anyway; you 'aven't got the flare to pull off something that stylish," he quips and gets hit in the face with the screwed up garment.

"It's okay, I doubt we'll be doing much night-time lumber-jacking over there anyway; probably won't need it," Brendan scoffs and continues folding things.

"Night-time lumber-jacking just sounds like some kind of gay sex thing."

"Explain to me what you're envisioning when you say that, please. I am _genuinely _baffled by how your brain works sometimes."

"Umm - buggering in the woods at night?"

"Of course. That's _obviously _what I meant."

"I might just pack it then," Ste comments casually, off-handedly, but he wants to see Brendan's reaction, watches Brendan curiously.

He pauses with a t-shirt in his hands, looks up at Ste from under his eyelashes, slight quirk to the corner of his mouth. "Yeah? You hopin' to get lucky?"

"Mmm, you never know. Might meet myself a nice Dublin boy - got a bit of a thing for the accent."

"Yeah, you do," Brendan says with a smirk and Ste hums a laugh, low and agreeable. "You watch out for them, though. Those Dublin boys can be a handful."

"Oh aye. Got a lot of experience 'ave you?"

"Oh no, course not - you know me, Steven. I'm as innocent as they come."

"Yeah, you're practically a monk."

It's stupid to do this, it can't go anywhere but he feels better for it all the same, energised like Brendan's charged him up somehow. They bicker back and forth and before he knows it, Ste's packed. He stands and looks around the room for something else to do, anything; just wants to make this moment last a bit longer.

"Want a cuppa or something?" he asks and it comes out weird and a bit desperate and he cringes because Brendan can read him like a book at the best of times, never mind when he's shaken wide open like this.

He's distracted, looks up and whatever words were going to come out seem to die before they do. There's a pause and then, "yeah, sure. Come here for a sec, first."

He does as he's told, stands in front of Brendan expectantly and then his breath catches in his throat when Brendan puts his hands against his sides. His brain is slow and sluggish to work out what's happening because the first thing he thinks is, _finally _and _please _and _don't stop, _but then he's suddenly off his feet, in the air briefly, and then on his arse on top of the closed suitcase with heat flooding through him like rolling lava.

"Sit tight, I need to zip up," he says like nothing weird at all just happened, like Ste's stomach isn't about to upend itself all over Brendan's head. When he's finished faffing about Ste sits, cold and staring and blinking rapidly like he's completely short-circuited.

"Hey - " Brendan says softly, raises a hand to cup his face and Ste jerks back like he's been shocked. "Jesus, Steven, what's wrong?"

He looks so concerned, eyes fixed and intent on Ste's face, and Ste can't handle it. "Nothin' - just felt a bit, think you made me dizzy - like faint, not - not like - " Oh, God, he feels like he's about to burst into hysterics or something. He slides down off the case, right into Brendan's space, and darts round his solid, in-the-way frame. " - I'll go make that cuppa."

Brendan doesn't follow him and he can lean against the kitchen counter and just breathe, calm his heart that's thumping right there on his sleeve like always. He itches the bandages around his wrists like the mental image is manifesting itself on his skin. Being near Brendan is easy until it's not and just when being away from him starts to become difficult again there he is, in the kitchen, appearing just when Ste needs him.

He opens his mouth and Ste interrupts before he even takes the breath to speak. "I'm fine, don't - "

Brendan holds up his hands. "Okay. You're all set, now."

"Thanks for the help."

"I didn't do it for nothing, y'know."

"Oh, aye?"

"Mmm," he hums, small smile tugging at his mouth. "You owe me."

"You can 'ave the shirt if that's what you're gettin' at."

"Throw in some lunch and we're even."

Ste breathes a laugh, lets his head fall forward and closes his eyes. _This _is easy. This slow, soaking up of humour and warmth, lazy back and forth, no direction, just solid and there.

"Tell me something," he blurts out suddenly.

Brendan looks at him, wary. "What?"

"No, I mean - " Ste fumbles for the words, fumbles how to ask for what he wants. " - I mean anything. A story, something about you or just - just anything."

Brendan cocks his head, soft and thoughtful, now. "Me and Peter once made Cheryl believe that the television obeyed her."

Ste smiles, instantly, and thinks _this, _this is exactly what he needs right now. "How did you manage that?"

"She was watching the TV in the other room and she shouts, suddenly, calling for me so I go in and she's all excited and she goes _I can't find the remote but watch this_. She walks up to the TV and the volume goes up. Then she walks back away and it goes down again. I'm impressed, obviously, and I tell her maybe it can hear her. I say t_ell it to do something _and she's even _more _excited and she says, _TV, go to channel four - _she actually calls it TV like that's its name - and it does. She's practically jumping up and down now, thinkin' she's magical or something, and she's tellin' it to do stuff, _TV, go to channel one,_ _TV, go down a channel_ and all that. Then it stops and she's gettin' more and more upset, _TV why aren't you listening to me? _and I am trying so hard not to piss myself and then she realises, screams _Pete!_ top of her lungs and Peter's crouched off in the doorway with the remote in his hand and practically hyperventilating he's laughing so hard."

Ste's laughing, too. The mental image itself is funny and he loves it when Brendan talks about his past. Knowing what he now knows, he's glad to see that Brendan can still smile, can still remember some things fondly. Bright spots in an otherwise dark fog. He gets how instinctive it is to cling to those few and far between moments, how it's a mechanism to survive the hazards of navigating your own terror fraught memories. They shine all the brighter because of it.

"She got me back by telling her Ma about the porn she'd found in my bedroom," he says, then snorts a completely undignified laugh, suddenly, and his voice goes all high-pitched and offended. "Wasn't even my porn! Peter used to bring round the most ridiculous magazines and I was just - like - what is this?"

Ste laughs harder and can't take his eyes of Brendan, warm and genuinely amused, in front of him. It's like a blast of fresh, cut-grass and ozone-smelling air blowing over his abused and aching body.

It's not too long before Ste feels ready to leave.

Brendan hauls his things into the car while he locks up and takes one last look at his flat. He feels a little bit like he's saying goodbye, not just to his home for two weeks but to something bigger, to his entire life as he knew it. He has this immense, gut-wrenching feeling that nothing will ever be the same again.

"Steven?" Brendan's voice calls up the path and Ste turns, strokes his hand across the door once and walks away.

* * *

He grips his children, pulls them close and inhales them, warm and familiar smell but different, too. Different washing powder, different house smell. He kind of wants to take them home and roll them around on the carpet of his flat until they smell like him again.

"Mummy says we're going on holiday." Leah peers at him suspiciously like she thinks maybe it's a trick or something.

"Mummy's right, we're going to Ireland. You've heard of Ireland, haven't you?"

"I 'ave a friend at school from Ireland," she tells him, thoughtfully. "She talks funny."

Ste chokes, coughs and looks over at Brendan in the kitchen. He's folding up letters, sticking them in envelopes and sealing them, all stuff to take to the club before they go and Ste knows he's trying not to let on that he's paying any attention but he can see the smile Brendan's trying and failing to hide.

"Hey, you," Cheryl says, pokes Leah in the back of the head with one finger and she giggles. She's lugging bags about to get them all together and there just isn't room in this living room for all these people.

"Right, you two can come and help Daddy make some lunch," he says brightly, grabs both their hands and pulls them over to the kitchen. He reckons keeping them out of the way of the general chaos of packing up to go on the run is the best thing he can do at the moment since he himself isn't really up to much. Cooking is something he's good at, something that's monotonous and easy, all muscle memory and calm-inducing. It's something he can offer them since he's partly responsible for bringing this devastation down upon his family in the first place. It's all he can do to thank Amy and Cheryl and Brendan for loving him enough to protect him like this.

He sits them both on top of the kitchen counter. "Right, what do you fancy?"

Leah considers. Lucas doesn't look much like he cares. "Pasta," she says with a firm nod.

His baby girl wants pasta so pasta it is.

He delegates, keeps them away from anything hot but lets Lucas fetch colanders and pans and has Leah grate some cheese because he hates grating cheese himself and as their father he's earned the right to exploit his children just a _little _bit.

"You're all lookin' like busy bees over here." Amy comes close, wraps her arms around his middle where he's stood at the counter chopping vegetables. He turns and kisses her and thinks idly, it's no wonder people think that they're a couple. She turns her face into his neck and says, quietly, "you didn't sleep at all last night, did you?"

"Course I did."

"Liar," she scoffs, sounds like she's just snorted phlegm all across his throat. "You don't 'ave to pretend for my sake, Ste. It makes me worry about you more when you don't tell me what's goin' on. You were practically staggering about this morning, you were like summat drunk."

He stops chopping, lays the knife down but keeps his hand locked tight around it, and leans his forehead against Amy's. "I think it'll pass. It's just - I still feel - jumpy - a bit."

"You scared of him coming back sooner than Brendan thought?"

"I'd be surprised if he did after what I did to him," he says with a shiver that passes straight from him and into Amy like a wave. "It's not that, I don't know what it is."

"It's post traumatic stress, Ste."

"Do I look like a shell-shocked war veteran?"

"It's not as simple as that, it can show itself in lots of ways."

"I'm fairly sure it's just the drugs or something." He's going for calm and breezy but that word still makes his stomach roll and his voice catch.

"No, I doubt it. They'd be out of your system by now."

"Amy, look - " he huffs, bordering on suffocation. "You know how much I appreciate you lookin' out for me?"

"But - you'd really like me to shut my face?"

He laughs. "Yes. Please."

"Fine," she says and slaps him on the shoulder. "First sign of something weird, though - "

"Yeah, you'll be the first person to get on my case about it. I know."

"You're a proper nob sometimes, you know that?"

"I know but you 'ave to love me, soooo - " He slides a knife out of the rack and pokes the handle over his shoulder.

She doesn't impale him on it but he'd put money on it being a close thing.

* * *

It takes them all afternoon to get sorted and by the time the minibus comes to take them to the airport, Ste's seeing pinpricks of light blooming and scattering across his vision. He feels thick and syrupy and his body keeps kind of lurching like he's trapped in a lift that's going up and down too quickly. He hadn't dared to eat much lunch, not with the thought of so much travelling looming on the horizon. His throat and stomach has suffered enough already, thanks very much; he's not going to be sick again, not for anything.

He spares himself a look in the living room mirror before they head out the door and it's not looking good. He's still pale, eyes still dark-rimmed and dull, face still peppered with tiny cuts. He's taken the square plaster off his neck to avoid funny looks and the wound where the knife went in is scabbed over, dark red and surrounded by pink, sore looking skin and deep purple bruising - Walker's hand prints still pressed into his flesh like a brand. He's wearing his baggiest jumper, sleeves a touch too long so they hang over his hands and completely cover the bandages around his wrists that make him look like a botched suicide attempt. If anyone asks him about his appearance he's going to have to tell them he was attacked or mugged or something.

The cab to the airport comes at 4pm on the dot and he gets in first to grab the kids and pull them up next to him. They set off and he rests his head against the cool glass window, everything going blissfully blank. At some point there's elbows and knees digging into his belly and thighs and shoulders, a lap full of wriggling, kicking child, but he's used to that and it doesn't rouse him much. The next time he opens his eyes it's because they've stopped and he's the only one left in the taxi.

It feels like a dream for a fraction of a second, sleep clinging to him, thick and stodgy, and he's back, alone and asleep and unable to claw his way out, but then he hears familiar voices outside, the sound of rolling suitcases.

"Hey, sleepy." Cheryl, head poked around the door. "Thought we'd let you nap on a bit."

It's supposed to be a comfort but it isn't. He's twisted up with the sense that they're making _group _decisions about him behind his back, stomach clenching and chest tight. When he pushes out through the sliding door, bright-white light blooms in front of his eyes and he stubbornly doesn't sit back down or lean against the bus until it passes, doesn't draw any attention to himself. He can't handle anymore attention.

Check-in is as nightmarish as it ever is and Leah ends up sat on the floor about a hundred yards across the building, arms and legs crossed, sullen pout and squinted, glaring eyes. Amy argues with her from ten feet away and by God that girl can give as well as her mother these days. People in nearby queues laugh and call her cute but Ste's willing to bet that Amy would like to throttle her right now. He sits on his upright suitcase and watches through a cloying fog, tries not to notice everyone's eyes on him, the people he's with as well as complete stranger's. He knows he's a fucking sight and under the harsh, white lights of the airport it's like he's on a stage, lit up by a spotlight.

He feels trapped and mithered to death, too much company, too much scrutiny, and when they get through and sat and settled he stands up and stretches his legs.

"I'm gonna go for a walk," he says as casual as he can manage and three faces turn to look up at him like he's talking a foreign language. "_What?_"

"Well - " It's Cheryl that speaks up first, surprisingly. "I was gonna have a look in the duty free if you fancy it?"

"No, I'm fine on my own," he says and it's harsh and flat but all it gets him is a look of sympathy and that's not what he wants. Ste turns and walks away, doesn't want to hear anyone else's ideas about what he should and shouldn't be doing.

In all fairness, he gets further than he thought he would.

"Steven. Hey, _Steven_ - " A hand grabs his arm and he turns, quick as a lightning flash and anger burning just as bright, and shoves Brendan away with all his strength because he knows he _can. _It feels too good, makes his breath quicken and his heart pound and Brendan's angry now, too, and it's good, it's _good._

"What, Brendan? What!?" he shouts, voice a rough and broken rumble at that volume. He barely recognises it.

Brendan's mouth trembles and he balls his hands up into tight fists. For one reckless, frighteningly intense moment, Ste wants to smack him and for Brendan to hit him back. He craves something physical, some spewing eruption of violence and chaos. Roiling darkness festers inside and eats at him and he needs some way to expel it.

"How 'bout you don't fucking walk off on your own, how's that sound?"

"Why? Think Walker might be 'ere? Think he might 'ave planned a big ambush or a terrorist attack or summat?" He definitely gets a few funny looks for that one.

"You're half dead on your feet, you're hardly in your right mind - "

"_Don't! _Don't tell me how I feel - "

"I _know _how you feel, I almost watched you di - " It bounces out around the terminal in a startling echo and the furious terror in Brendan's halting voice is palpable.

Ste stands, tense as a drawn wire, eyes wide open and stuck that way and he can't dredge up one thing to say. People pass by them like a rolling film reel and they're stock still, staring at each other in the middle of the throng. Just the two of them in their own silent, paralysed world whilst everyone else's just turns on and on. He opens his mouth without any clue what he's about to say but before he's so much as taken a breath, his body lurches and the ground's coming up to meet him.

His legs are shaking and there's another explosion of light behind his eyes.

"_Steven_ - " Brendan's there in a heartbeat, both of them dropping to their knees under Ste's dead weight. His face is buried in the collar of Brendan's coat and he's pressed against Brendan's chest, the solid thud of his heart under Ste's own, and his lungs feel squeezed, wrung dry and completely empty. Black fuzzes in at the edges of his vision, tries to embrace him and terror bleeds through him like numbing, ice-cold liquid through his veins. He fights through the murk like he's six feet underwater and trying to break the surface.

"Nononono - " He thinks that's his voice, a soft, pleading litany. There's a hand on the back of his neck, fingers warm and soothing. Familiar and grounding.

"What's going on? Is he alright?" A voice he doesn't recognise. Female. Friendly and all business.

"Yeah, he's fine, he just passes out sometimes - scared of flying, y'know?" Brendan, wavering.

Ste's hands flex and cling in the material of his grey t-shirt and he's hauled up off the floor, slumping forwards and moulding his body to Brendan's shamelessly, like he's _not _in the middle of an airport being gawped at by strangers and security staff. Brendan's holding him close, turning them so that she can't see the state of Ste's face and get curious.

"Aww, it's no good, is it? If you need any assistance give us a shout."

"Will do, thanks." He feels Brendan's lips against his cheek, his face turned into Ste's. He thinks they must look a bit like they're dancing and it's a weird thing to be thinking when he's nearly unconscious but there it is. "You okay to move?"

He nods in acknowledgement and Brendan holds him firmly around the waist, free hand gripping under his elbow tightly, and guides them to some nearby steel benches. Ste falls down heavily and squeezes his eyes shut against everything. The world assaults him in vivid, over-bright technicolour and his head pounds.

He nearly died. Brendan nearly said it. It's been hovering there on the edges of his consciousness for days, acknowledged but still just idling away on the surface. Now it hits him like a freight train. He was seconds away from death. If Walker had given him more drugs - if he'd come upstairs just one minute sooner - if Ste hadn't looked in the drawer with the sewing kit when he did -

Walker had set out to kill him. Drugged and locked him up with that one and only purpose. All along he'd looked at Ste, talked to him and wiped his forehead and sympathised, and he'd _known. _He'd known all along that Ste wouldn't survive the night.

Brendan would have stood there and watched while Walker slit his throat.

Ste sits and trembles and can't think past blood and pitch-black darkness, past the forever-long nothingness that he'd stood right on the edge of, too vast to ever process. Brendan strokes a hand up and down his back and waits him out.

After what feels like eternity, he tames the memory enough to force it back into its box where he doesn't have to look at it anymore, or at least not until the next nervous breakdown he has in an embarrassingly public place, and buries his head in his hands, exhausted.

Brendan finally speaks. "You want a drink or something?"

"Water," he croaks and Brendan squeezes him briefly on the shoulder.

"Back in a minute." And _no, _just _no. _Ste grips out blindly and buries his fingers into warm denim. "Hey, it's okay. There's a vending machine right there, I won't be far."

Promise kept, a minute later there's a damp, cold bottle pressed into Ste's hands. He opens his eyes into a squint and looks at it stupidly. Then he looks at Brendan. "What time is it?"

"Nearly half five, why?"

"Cheryl said she wanted to look in the duty free," he says. "We board in a bit."

"I think she'll survive, Steven," Brendan chuckles. "She can look on the way home. Chez's got enough crap anyway, she could do with sittin' this one out."

Ste sighs and shuts his eyes again, leans his head back against the back of the bench. He doesn't have the strength to articulate what he means. Brendan's casual assurances don't work because all Ste can see is yet another sacrifice. All he can really do is nod.

* * *

He doesn't know how long he sits there but it helps. By the time they get back to the girls it's almost time to board and he's thrown into the deep end of a heated argument about window seats.

They end up separating the kids for two reasons. Together they're an unholy force of evil and that way they _both _get a window seat. Amy takes Leah and Ste takes Lucas and it only seems natural that Cheryl sits with the girls and Brendan with the boys. It's a weird surreal moment because he's sitting next to _Brendan _on a _plane _and he already has an image in his head for this. It's an old, worn and rumpled photograph tucked away under months and layers of pain and dust and now he dredges it out because even though it's not quite the image he'd seen all those months ago, it also doesn't hurt like it used to.

As it happens, it looks pretty good. Also as it happens, he can't pretend to be afraid of flying and expect Brendan to hold his hand through take-off - another little mental snapshot he'd once had.

Instead Ste tries to answer Lucas' million questions about planes even though he knows literally naff all about them. He'd leaned surreptitiously into Brendan and asked, quietly, _didn't you say once that you wanted to be a pilot? _to which Brendan had answered _I was twenty-one and just liked things that moved fast. I know about as much about planes as you do, _and so he'd bullshitted his way through every single one and hoped Lucas never planned on having a career in flight.

About five minutes in his son's attention is completely focused on the window and he falls quiet.

Ste rests back into his seat, head lolling against the headrest. He rolls it to the side, watches Brendan's hands turn the pages of the in-flight magazine he's reading. In his peripheral he sees Brendan turn to face him and he flicks his eyes up to catch his gaze, scant inches between them. Ste's all loose and energy-drained but his heart kicks up a notch in that way he's becoming so accustomed to. Brendan swallows obviously and he chases the movement with his eyes, watches Brendan's mouth part and his adam's apple dip and bob.

It's a stretched, lazy moment, thick with longing and tinged slow and bitter with sadness. Ste indulges because he hasn't anything left in him to fight with. He wants like a starving man, it's out of his control, and all he can do is rely on Brendan to stop him. When he leans, just enough, mere inches of space to dissolve, he expects a hand on him or at the very least a word of caution. What he doesn't expect is soft lips pressing against his own and the tickle of hair against his nose.

He makes a noise like a dying animal, a wretched, desperate sound, and surges forwards against Brendan's mouth. That's when the hand comes, the gentle words.

"Hey, hey - " Brendan's palm is warm against his neck and he pulls Ste against his shoulder. "Shhh, Lucas."

Ste thinks, fuck, what's he doing, his son is right there and he's behaving like a drunk teenager, and gets a grip. He nods against Brendan's throat and breathes, deep and calming. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't 'ave - "

"Neither should I," Brendan says firmly, interrupting him. "It's just been a long day, that's all. No harm done."

He could fucking laugh at that. Laugh and choke on it. No harm done except the lingering feeling of Brendan's lips against him and the empty pit in his stomach that just half-filled with warm, sweet heat and then violently spewed out the lot in the space of half a minute just moments ago. _It's been a long day _is what Brendan says but all Ste hears is _I almost watched you die _droning over and over in his head on repeat, a horrible monotonous litany that he can't even try to drown out, that he'll just have to try and find some way to live with.

Instead he nods again and says nothing. He doesn't pull away, either.

The rise and fall of Brendan's body as he breathes starts to lull him into something like peace. Just the warm, _nearness _of him is enough to calm that constant thrum of panic that dances under Ste's skin and jolts him awake whenever he dares to let his guard down.

"I think I'm about to fall asleep on you," he murmurs thickly, just a little warning so that Brendan doesn't move too much or say something that might wake him up. "So I'd get comfy if I was you."

Brendan chuffs a laugh through his hair and shifts a bit and Ste threads his arm underneath Brendan's on the armrest so he can get closer. He leans into him heavily, buries his nose against the fur collar on Brendan's coat and feels himself start to drift.


	11. when you hold me it's unlike any other

Warnings: Allusions to child abuse, sexual and physical. A bit of gore.

Notes: First of two chapters going up today (I wrote loads and had to split it, oops). Title and lyrics from the song Unlike Any Other by Delta Rae.

Word Count: ~5200

* * *

_i can't believe_

_that i got this close again, _

_now i'm afraid to move _

_you might really see me_

Cheryl fishes the keys out of Brendan's pocket because he has an armful of bags and a suddenly-and-inexplicably-unable-to-walk Lucas draped all over him. He'd thrown a tantrum outside on the quay and Ste hadn't had the energy to carry him and Amy had flat out refused but Brendan had apparently built up some kind of rapport with Ste's son on the plane over his daddy's sleeping body and hadn't been able to resist his sad blue eyes.

She shoves the door open, stiff from disuse, and she's first in, hauling bags and her suitcase and dumping the lot in the doorway. The first thing that hits Ste is cold air, the type that's really set in and made itself at home in the absence of life. Cheryl fumbles around in the shadows for a few seconds and then Ste's almost blinded by ceiling spotlights.

The place is gorgeous. A sprawling kitchen-living room, all clean, modern surfaces, cream walls and cabinets with sleek black tops and plush, cosy looking mauve sofas set out around the shaggiest looking rug Ste's ever seen. He wants to bury his face in it.

Brendan prods him over the threshold with one elbow and he goes, still gawping and doing a full 360 degrees spin in the middle of the room.

"See that hall?" Brendan announces to the room at large, putting Lucas down and gesturing off to an archway set in the middle of the wall opposite the front door. "Bathroom and bedrooms are up there, the one just on the left is mine but the other three are all the same so just divide and conquer as you please."

He's bustling around now, opening a wall-mounted kitchen cabinet and fiddling with the thermostat. Cheryl's already vanished but Ste turns to face Amy and she looks as impressed as he feels.

"Balcony," she says brightly and she's right. On the right wall, facing one sofa, is a wide set of glass doubled doors draped with floor-length white vertical blinds. It's too bright inside to make out much but he can see the dark outlines of a table and chairs. "Right, how do you wanna do this with the bedrooms?"

"You take Leah, I'll take Lucas?"

She considers, looks like there might be something else she had in mind and he gets it. "We can't keep sharing a room, Amy. It's weird."

"It's not weird," she scoffs, "you're weird."

"I'm not the one tryin' to get you into bed though, am I?"

"Shut up, you know why - " Amy goes quiet and he links his arm with hers, pulls her over to the arched hall with their bags.

"I know, but you're just gonna 'ave to trust that nothing bad's gonna 'appen to me if you let me out of your sight for five minutes, okay?"

He hears the kids in the end-right room and guides Amy towards the sound. They're jumping on the double bed, pulling each other over viciously and Leah's found a tennis racket from fuck-knows-where that she's about to brain her brother with.

"Leah!" Amy scoots forward and grabs it out of her two-handed grip before it completes its sailing arch through the air. "You don't hit your brother with stuff that's harder than pillows, how many times?"

Yes, Mummy."

Ste throws himself down with them on the bed and says, actually a bit concerned, "yeah, Mummy, _how _many times?"

"She got him with the hoover nozzle the other day; he bled for almost half an hour," she tells him, shaking her head and Ste frowns, is going to need a bit more information than that, considering. "It wasn't serious. You know there'll be trouble if it happens again, don't you." He looks at his daughter and she grins up at him, all bright eyes and charm. She could be a serial killer one day and he'd still fall for that face. Weapon of choice - deadly hoover. "D'you wanna take this room, Ste?"

He doesn't actually. "No, it's okay, you 'ave this one. I'll go across."

She raises her eyebrows at him, pulls that smug and all-knowing face that he really, _really _hates.

"_What?"_

"Nothin'"

"It's not nothin', come on, what?"

"Just happens to be next to Brendan's, that's all," she comments casually with an off-handed shrug and then turns away from him completely, grabs Leah's bag and directs her to get unpacking with Lucas tailing behind to help.

"And?" he asks impatiently, irritated because - well just because. "What d'you think I'm gonna do? Drill a hole in the wall?"

"Ste!" His name comes out like a high-pitched _squawk_ and she's got both hands on her mouth to stifle the shrill laugh that he can almost hear escaping like whistling steam.

"Well?"

She gets herself under control and eyes the kids moving about the room. They can have conversations that fly straight over their heads, they do it all the time. She just has to pick her words carefully.

"I get how you feel, you feel like you owe him - " she starts and _Christ _it's one of the worst things she's _ever_ said to him and he can't let her carry on with that train of thought.

"Amy! That's not - it isn't that, _God - _" He's spluttering and breathing hard, such an intense reaction to something so simple because he knows why she'd think that. He half thinks that himself in his absolute worst moments and he suspects that's _exactly_ what Brendan thinks, too. Hearing it out loud, though -

"Okay, calm down," she soothes, comes close and perches on the bed next to him. She looks genuinely shocked by his outburst. "Tell me what it is, then. _Please_."

He drops his voice to a soft almost-whisper because he can't ignore the desperate way that please sounded. "Before Walker, y'know - before he was gonna do what he was gonna do - "

She blanches completely white and nods silently.

" - for Brendan it was goodbye. He didn't know I'd got myself out of the ropes. He was so - the look on his face. I've never seen anything like it before. It was like - " Ste speaks haltingly but it's droning, monotonous. He feels the emotions strongly, sees the scene play out in front of his eyes like he's transported, but it's like there's too much of it that his voice can't catch up. "It was like his world was ending." He feels her hand on his arm, stroking up and down and it brings him back from that place and grounds him in solid reality. "He told me he loved me. And he meant it."

She lets his words sink in before she speaks. "I can't argue with that. How he feels isn't really what we're talkin' about, though. That's not what worries me."

"I'm grateful for what he did but even before all this with Walker. I mean - you asked me a few times yourself if I had feelings for him again and you usually figure out how I feel before _I _do."

"I just know that after everything that's happened, you're head's bound to be a mess."

He doesn't fight with her over it because it's true, he is a mess and one of the things he loves most about Amy is that she makes him face the difficult stuff head on and doesn't let him wriggle out just because he's struggling. She pushes him and it keeps him from retreating completely into his own thoughts.

"I'm taking in what you're sayin', Ames. I promise I am," and he means it. He feels a percentage calmer now, more capable of shifting through his thoughts and recognising what's what.

"Good," she says and strokes a hand through his hair. "Just think about it, that's all I'm saying."

He nods. He will. "But - I don't wanna try and pretend that this thing with Brendan is just because of everything that's happening," he says honestly. "Tryin' to make excuses for it doesn't make it go away."

"I know it doesn't. If it's genuine then you've got my support, Ste. That one's my little promise." She's giving him that small, familiar little smile that he adores so much and the world rights itself just that little bit more.

* * *

_"Now, Ste, let me tell you something else about Brendan you didn't know," Walker says, cold as ice to match his steely grip on Ste's body, "the real reason you're here actually. The reason you're about to die." _

_His heart is sinking, his head is pounding. He's down to the last thread still binding his hands but his wrists are seeping a steady stream of blood and making the needle slippery. He just can't get it, almost can't stand the pain and crippling fear anymore. He's going to die. He's never going to see his children again. He'll never hold or kiss or touch another living person. Walker's hands will be the last one's he ever feels._

_"I'm sorry, Ste," Walker apologises and he's genuine and it hurts so bad because he'd thought - he'd actually thought that Walker might - that his words had meant something - "I'd say my goodbye's if I was you."_

_" I love you and I never stopped loving you - I'm so sorry - " _

_Everything's slowed and he feels cold steel cut into his flesh with a pop. Red runs hot down his neck and there's so much of it. Brendan's screaming and Ste's gurgling through his own blood, choking and dying on it, on the very thing that gives him life. _

_His vision runs black. He's weak and still thrashing, tearing at the ropes, can't breathe, can't swallow all that blood - _

He fights through the enormous gravity-pull of sleep, wrenches his head from the pillow like it weighs tons, and throws his arms out to untangle the covers from his body. He's still choking on a metallic-iron tang and his lip stings, realises he's bitten through his healing split and there's blood dribbling down his chin.

Lucas sleeps soundly next to him; boy can sleep through anything, once slept through the fire alarm going off for half an hour because the bloody thing was knackered and Amy stubbornly wouldn't let him take the batteries out or smash the fucking thing with a hammer. He watches the rise and fall of his son's tiny chest, watches his fingers curl in the fabric of his fireman Sam pyjamas, and lets it wash him as calm as it can.

The bedside clock says two-thirty am and that means he's had an hour and a half's sleep which is better than a kick in the teeth but not nearly what he needs. It had taken him a full hour to drift off in the first place and he doesn't fancy his chances much of that happening twice in the same night so he gets up, pulls on a hoodie, and steadies himself on the wardrobe when his vision whites out. His stomach rolls and his heart pounds out a staccato rhythm against his ribcage. He doesn't want to vomit, especially not in Brendan's nice flat, but he didn't particularly want to get kidnapped either and look how that worked out for him.

_"No son, I'm no murderer. I need a little favour from Brendan and you happen to be my bargaining chip." _

Fucking liar.

It's some weird, still and silent twilight hour and every piece of dialogue and every scene flickers in front of Ste's eyes like a black and white film on super 8. This is when he relives his twenty-four hours of horror, alone in the quiet almost-dark where he'd existed for hours on end under the influence of Walker's drugs.

He needs to get out of this room.

Brendan's left a single, low light on in the kitchen and he gravitates towards it like a confused moth. His throat feels cracked and he runs the cold tap, finds a glass and drinks deep to soothe at least one of his aches. His knees shake and he shuffles to the lounge, falls heavily down onto the sofa facing the balcony doors and lets a few tears fall where nobody can see them.

He's all dried up by the time he hears footsteps behind him. "Steven?"

"Yeah," he breathes, voice a creaking, damp mess and there's warm hands on his shoulders.

"Can't sleep?" Brendan asks softly and presses his thumbs firmly into the base of Ste's neck. He exhales a slow sigh. It's touch for the purpose of comfort and it feels so good, would feel good if it was anyone touching him like that but it's Brendan's slender and capable hands, hands that already know how to pull the most broken, desperate sounds out of him, and he's practically purring.

He shakes his head mutely and Brendan makes slow, kneading circles across his back, works his flesh expertly and touches every place that makes him shiver and go loose. Ste melts further and further into the sofa cushions, tension bleeding out of him until he's basically a puddle.

The sofa dips beside him and he opens his heavy eyes. "What're you doin' up?"

"You sorta crashed past my door," Brendan says easily and that means he was already up. "You?"

"Bad dream." He's kind of surprised he said that.

"Same."

He suspects they're dreaming about different things because Ste knows the kinds of dreams he sometimes had before Walker and he can't imagine what Brendan must see when he shuts his eyes.

"Stay there," Brendan says and gets up abruptly.

Ste turns and folds his arms across the back of the sofa to watch him dart around the kitchen, flipping the kettle on and rummaging around. Under the soft light, Brendan's all sleep-rumpled and bed-headed and it's such a calm, domestic scene that the pitch-black hole inside him throbs and aches with the loss of something they've never even had.

"What're you doin'?" he asks for the sake of a distraction.

"Don't be nosy. Patience is a virtue," Brendan says sagely, slamming something into the microwave and digging out an amber bottle from one of his top cabinets.

"You plannin' on getting me drunk?"

"I resent that. I never needed to get you drunk."

"You know exactly what you and your whiskey did to me; don't act all innocent, now."

Brendan actually grins at him, bright and blindingly genuine even through his pale exhaustion. "Wow. That seems like ages ago, don't it?"

Seems like ages but it's just another moment seared into Ste's brain forever.

The microwave beeps and Brendan pulls out two steaming mugs, sets them down and fills them with whiskey and water from the boiled kettle. He brings them over and hands one to Ste. He puts his face over the rolling steam and smells lemon and honey.

"It's not poison," Brendan says dryly. "It's something my Nana used to make me and Chez when we couldn't sleep or had a cold or something."

"Did it work?"

"Every time." He smiles sadly and Ste remembers, _she knew what he did to me _and _I killed her_ and suddenly feels cold all over. He grips the hot ceramic tightly, inhales the heat deep and tips the mug to his lips. It's nice, all tangy-sweet and warmth soothing a path through his raw throat and down into his body.

"What was she like?" Ste asks because it seems appropriate.

It looks like it could go either way but it seems that Brendan's exhaustion and honesty win out in the end and he curls in on himself, arms tightly folded and chin pressed into his shoulder as his eyes flick past Ste's face and don't settle on anything. Maybe it's the late hour; the stillness and privacy. The fact it's just the two of them and Ste had made Brendan promise, _no more secrets. _

"We were close, me and her. I was always her little stór - even after I hit fourteen and got taller than her. Her little treasure," he says in that little-boy voice Ste had heard when he'd made his confessions days ago. It both scares and awes him in equal measure that Brendan can turn into this, rough edges all hewn down. Smaller but not diminished. He seems to take up every inch of Ste's awareness like he's more magnetic than ever and Ste can't take his eyes off him. "She's like two people in my head, the one that I loved and then the other one - the one that I - "

Killed.

Neither of them says it but it's there like a ghost.

"I feel like I didn't know her at all," he finally admits with a sigh. "It's weird after a whole lifetime."

"We don't 'ave to know every single thing about a person to love 'em," Ste says, feels something damp on his hands and when he looks down he realises he's been picking at his bandages and one wrist is bleeding through. He shifts his hoodie over his hand to hide it. "Even if they've done bad things to you. It doesn't change how you feel about 'em deep down, doesn't mean it's not okay to focus on the good things."

Brendan's eyes glance off him again like he can't keep bear to look. It's the exact opposite of how Ste feels.

"Doesn't it make you feel weak? Not being able to let go after everything?" he asks and he knows, of course he knows; they don't need explanations or details, never have done.

"It used to. Doesn't anymore."

Brendan breathes and frowns, goes still and that's pretty unnerving; he's never still.

"How'd you get so wise?" is what he eventually comes out with and it clears through the thickening air and Ste can finally breathe easily again, hadn't even realised he was suffocating until he wasn't.

"Old age." He shrugs and slurps noisily from his mug. Brendan shoves at him and it shakes off that tension that Ste could _see _on him like a physical thing.

"Enjoyin' your drink that I went to all that effort to make for you?"

"Aww, thank you, Brendan," he gushes exaggeratedly. "It's very nice."

"What I actually meant was is it gonna knock out that smart mouth of yours."

He does feel a bit loopy and light-headed and he's numbed that nervous jitter that's embedded itself under his skin. He absolutely does not want to go back to bed, though. The thought makes him feel nauseous.

"I might just stay up for a bit. You go, though, you look tired."

Brendan snorts through his throat. "Yeah, course."

He leans back against the sofa cushions and holds out his arm, unspoken _come here _if there ever was one, and Ste could kiss him for understanding something that Ste hardly understands himself. Brendan's presence safe and calming. Brendan's body warm and comforting. He buries close, head against Brendan's chest and arm thrown across him, and Brendan pulls him against his side tight.

"Y'okay?"

He doesn't answer, dead weight already, already relaxed and mind wondering.

"Hey, you okay?" Brendan's tone is concerned but Ste's got a sudden thought brewing slowly through his knackered brain and a really good stare going with the sofa. The _mauve _sofa.

"I always thought it was Cheryl that decorated your flat back home and _that's _why it was that colour, but it wasn't all her was it?" he asks eventually.

Brendan takes in a breath and goes shifty under him and Ste looks up, chin against his collar bone. He pulls a few different expressions out like he's deciding on how to tackle the question. Eventually he goes on the defensive and blurts out, "I like pink! S'just a _littlebit_." The last part he mumbles with a tiny shrug and Ste wants to squeeze the breath right out of him. It's more than the rare goofiness of him, though; it's really down to vulnerability. Brendan lets Ste crack him wide open and see what's inside and he does so willingly.

He doesn't have the energy for squeezing though so he settles himself back into the warm circle of Brendan's arm. Sleep pulls at him and the feeling is so unfamiliar that he panics at the encroaching darkness for a split second before letting it take hold.

He falls to the soft sound of Brendan's breath, once again.

* * *

He wakes up to soft light and softer cushions and when he opens his eyes he sees pink and white. He's laid out across the sofa and covered with a thick blanket and the blinds are still shut but it's bright out and the sun trickles in regardless.

There's a clattering sound of someone shifting about the kitchen behind him and he pushes himself up, feels out his groggy, lazy body. He's still sleep tinged and it's nice not to be sleeping one minute and completely awake the next like someone's thrown cold water over him.

"Mornin' love," Cheryl sings across the room and he gives her a wave. "Tea or coffee? Or bed?"

"Coffee, please, strong," he rasps out, coughs to clear his throat and winces at the ache. "Time is it?"

"Nearly nine."

He's had a few hours then. "Where is everyone?"

"Amy's gettin' the kids dressed and Brendan's popped out," she tells him and he wonders how exactly he'd managed to sleep through all that. Brendan moving away from him alone should have been enough to kick him into life.

He gets up and stretches, feels his back pop pleasantly, remembers the tingle of hands on him, and shuffles over to perch on one of the kitchen barstools. The coffee smell perks him up a bit and the familiar rush of every-present adrenaline kicks up his heart rate a notch, just enough to make him constantly aware of it.

"How are you feeling?" Cheryl asks eventually, putting a cup in front of him and leaning over the counter.

"Fine," is all he says and it's not fair, not when she's here with him in another country like this. "I slept better."

"Yeah," she says softly, gives him a thoughtful look that makes his heart sink. "You and Bren looked pretty cosy this morning."

"It wasn't like that," he blurts out and cringes and she grins.

"Like what? I didn't say anything."

He buries his head in his hands and exhales, long and slow. "It's not like anything. Neither of us could sleep and then we were just talkin' and we must 'ave just nodded off."

"Wow," she scoffs, looks impressed. "You know that's _exactly _what Brendan said, almost word for word exact."

It's funny and he laughs. "Yeah, well, that's 'cause it's true."

"I'm not sayin' it isn't!" She puts her hands up in peace and Ste swats at them.

"Well _don't_ say it a bit quieter then."

She scrunches her face up at him but doesn't pry and further. It's not like her and he wonders how her conversation with Brendan actually went.

He finishes up and says good morning to his fresh-faced kids and their definitely less than fresh faced mother - _I forgot that Leah kicks in her sleep. You can take her tonight, I want the other one - _and heads to take a shower.

The bathroom's all soft-grey tiles and white ceramic and the shower is an open stall with clear glass walls that turns out to be a bit like heaven when the spray starts. He doesn't know how long he stands under it but it's hot and cleansing, strips off his lingering exhaustion and the feeling of Brendan against him until he's fresher.

It's a pretty good start to the day, considering.

Brendan's back when he gets out, bags of shopping and windswept hair. His cheeks are flushed and Ste wants to touch and feel how cold he is but he doesn't. They share a look when Brendan spots him in the arched doorway and it's soft and sweet and not enough.

Amy wants the two of them to take the kids out for the day, spend some real, quality family time together and he can't think of much he wants more than that so he wraps up warm in his thickest coat and they head out with Cheryl's suggestions in mind.

They walk along the river and it's lovely; chilly autumn air fresh and crisp and burnished red and orange leaves scattered over the cobbles like confetti. The kids fight for the crunchiest ones to stand on and he and Amy join in because it's autumn tradition and Ste hasn't played this game this year round; they're all way in front of him and he has some points to score.

He feels a bit like he's stepped back in time, here. They pass red-brick buildings and sandstone carved columns, intricate wrought-iron benches and men with flat caps smoking pipes and drinking Guinness on _ye olde pub _terraces. Even the modern glass structures and way off skyscrapers and scally teenagers in tracksuit bottoms look classic.

The kids grumble and they get lunch at tiny cafe up a small, quaint side street. Toasted sandwiches and hot chocolate and Ste eats the lot and it settles okay. Afterwards they head to the Lambert Theatre on Cheryl's pretty dismal directions, stopping once to ask for actual directions from a man with the thickest accent Ste's ever heard, Leah snorting sloppy, wet giggles through the fingers of the hand he's using to cover he mouth with. There's a puppet show that the kids just eat up and even Ste has to admit it's pretty funny.

By four o'clock he's dead on his feet, this being the most he's physically done in days, and the white spots are back, swimming in front of his eyes like balls of light in those fake ghost pictures that used to freak him out as a kid. He staggers, once, and Amy catches his arm and looks at him disapprovingly.

"We're headin' back. You should 'ave said something."

He selfishly hadn't wanted to upset the little happy bubble he's been floating in all day. The second he falls out of the moment they're in, the distraction of his excited, never-tiring kids and the familiar warmth and humour of Amy, his blood rushes and he feels on that sharp knife edge all over again.

She hails a cab even though he protests and they're back at Brendan's building in time to see Cheryl cooking dinner and unscrewing the cork from a bottle of white.

The flat's warm and soft-lit, the smell of food and family rolling through the air and settling in his skin. The kids are already arms deep in pots and pans in the kitchen and Brendan takes Amy's coat and hangs it up in an easy way that makes Ste completely dizzy.

The whole thing is beyond surreal and he daren't even blink for fear of it shuttering out of existence.

"Hey," there's a hand waving in front of his face and he jerks back against the wall like he's been burned. "Sorry, sorry, God - " It's Brendan's hand and he goes to pull away but Ste stops him, grips hold of his wrist tight and holds on. "You need to go lie down or something?"

"No, I'm okay," he breathes shakily and just touches, just rubs his thumb across Brendan's pulse to calm his own pounding heart. "I'll be fine in a minute."

It's such a simple gesture but Brendan waits him out like he understands why it's needed.

"You better be hungry, Cheryl's made - something," he says casually, mundane conversation a welcome distraction.

"You sound keen."

"It's been a rough day so humour her, please."

"Why what's 'appened?" He hadn't realised before but now that he looks at Brendan this close he can see that he's pinched with stress and holding himself tense.

"Lynsey's Ma called earlier, they're bringing her body home and having the funeral in a few days time."

"Jesus - "

"Yeah, timing or what?"

"You goin' up?"

"Yeah, gonna hire a car and head up there for a couple days. You're - umm - " Brendan pauses and Ste feels the tendons in his wrist flex against his hand. " - you and Amy are welcome to come, if you want. I know she was Amy's friend and - y'know - be good havin' you there."

He feels his breath catch in his throat and now feels like the ideal moment for a glib, witty comment about dates and good company but nothing comes to him, not a fucking thing. He nods, instead. Whispers a soft, "yeah, course I will, course - "

Brendan nods and Ste breathes and tries to see straight.

He can have and touch and take all these parts of Brendan, can stand here and let Brendan anchor him in the real world, feel his fluttering heartbeat under his skin like it's all for him, can give Brendan support right back and thrill when he takes it, when he _asks _for it, and it's _still_ not enough.

At some point something's going to break and it feels like every second that moment inches closer.


	12. i need the darkness, the sweetness

Warnings: Graphic talk of non-sexual child abuse and allusions to sexual abuse.

Notes: This is the second chapter gone up today just in case anyone missed the previous one! Title and lyrics from the song My Skin by Natalie Merchant.

Word Count: ~4400

* * *

_you better shut your mouth_

_hold your breath_

_kiss me now _

_you'll catch your death_

Brendan's balcony overlooks the river and at night, all lit up like this with soft-glowing street lamps and bustling bars, it's honestly one of the nicest sights he's ever seen.

He'd allowed himself a couple of glasses of white wine and it turned out not to be the best idea he's ever had. He'd thought it might help relax him, smooth his sharpened nerves, and the first had but the second had just made him feel sick and a bit _too _floaty. He leans his forearms against the railings and rests his head on his bandaged wrists, revels in the feeling of cool, damp-smelling air dancing over his flushed skin.

The day's knackered him out to the point that he feels looser. All that fresh, cold air and different scenery, all the endless walking and child-wrangling. It's left his muscles worn out and used and it's a good feeling.

Putting a whole body of water in between his family and Walker, between him and the things Walker did to him, has stripped away some of the weight pushing down on his back and although he has a headache throbbing like a bruise behind his eyes, he can still breathe just a bit easier. Amy and his children are safe here and that's his number one priority. That one fact is the foundation he's trying hard to build the rest of his stability on.

There's shouting below and he opens his eyes, peers through his fingers and sees a man chasing a woman up the quay. She's darting out of his outstretched hands, her hair rippling out behind her, long and dark, and she's ducking left and right and laughing, beautiful and clear as a ringing bell. The man catches her by the railings, boxes her in with his arms and takes her face between his hands, gentle and familiar.

Ste feels his entire chest bloom at the sight of them. He can _feel _the emotions they're feeling, vividly as if they were flowing directly through their veins and straight into his own by some invisible IV line. It takes his breath away, that depth of feeling, that heavy pulling at his heart and stomach like a deep, resonating throb. He aches for something to fill this pitch-black hole inside him, only hollowed wider by Walker and his drugs and his knife, thrust to the forefront of his mind so he can no longer ignore it but its always been there, always yawning wide and wanting. He can't figure out how he used to cover it up anymore, every part of him so abused and tender that he no longer has any defense against its effects.

It's easier to see all that here where his head is clearer. It's easier to feel out the bits of himself and assess what needs fixing.

This is only the second time he's been properly alone all day and he knows it won't last long. He can already sense Brendan's approach before the sliding glass door even starts to open. He's hit with a blast of warm air and music before it's shut out again and all he can hear is Brendan's rhythmic breath and and the clink of ice in his glass.

"Enjoyin' the view?"

"Mmmh, it's gorgeous," he mumbles."Dunno how you afforded it, like."

"I've had this place a while, was a lot cheaper back when I bought it." He slides up next to Ste, shoulder to shoulder, and rests his arms against the railings in a mirror of Ste's position. "What d'you think of Dublin so far, then?"

"It's like a friggin' airport runway at night," Ste tells him and Brendan breathes a laugh. "Never seen anything so lit up in my life."

"You never say anything that a normal person would think to say, you know that?" he says, fond and amused. "Sometimes I just think up questions to ask you to see what you'd say."

"Really?" Ste rolls his head against his arms and peers up at Brendan through crinkled up eyes. "Like what?"

"No, shut up." Brendan ducks his head, smile playing across his mouth. There's a rush of flooding warmth through Ste's limbs and he's caught by it, the slight curve of Brendan's drink reddened lips, damp and plush and so soft - he knows, he felt them yesterday. It's too hard to take his eyes away and he turns to lean his hip against the railings to see more.

There's something dangerous about this moment, the lights and romance and running water. His fuzzy head and Brendan's half-empty whiskey glass.

"No, come on, tell me." He pulls at Brendan's sleeve, goading, annoying. He's like a kid all swept up giddy in moonlight and twinkling vistas.

"No, just stupid stuff, forget I said anything, dunno why I did." Ste knows why. Brendan's tipsy as Hell and from his close it's dead clear. His cheeks are flushed with soft colour and his eyes are as bright as the street lamps below.

"You're drunk," he says, mock-disapprovingly; his best dad voice.

"Yeah, well, _you're_ - drunk." He's not only drunk but relaxed, too. So much less guarded then Ste's used to seeing him.

He scoffs. "I'm not drunk, me!"

"You're short, though."

"_I'm_ average, you're just - " Brendan preens at him, pulls a charming smile and looks quite pleased with himself.

"Go on. I'm - a giant? Strapping? Tall, dark and handsome? _Huge?_"

"A little bit bigger than _some _people," Ste says pointedly and Brendan scoffs, gives him a look, _spoilsport. _"Anyway, you seem to be feelin' better than yesterday?"

It's a bit sneaky because Ste _knows_ he's taking advantage of the easy mood to get Brendan talking - again. In honesty he doesn't really know how Brendan was feeling yesterday; he was too fogged out, too deep in the mire, but Brendan had nearly let so much slip at the airport, had _kissed _him back on the plane, had come to him last night and soothed Ste with his hands, and Ste thinks that he should ask because he isn't the only one who's struggling here and despite being semi-trapped inside his own messed up head he's desperate not to become blind to the people around him. He owes them too much to lose sight of them.

Brendan considers it. He dips his head over the balcony and takes long, measured breathes. "There's somethin' about Dublin, it's just - I always felt like I could breathe here, y'know?"

Ste stays quiet, lets Brendan go on at his own pace. There's a sudden and surreal aura of dream-like haze curling around him and Ste is frightened of disturbing it.

"It's away from home, away from the club, from business and - and years ago it was where I used to come to get away from my Da." Ste watches him bring an ever-so-slightly trembling hand up to his mouth and chew on the pad of his thumb and he can hardly breathe. "I'd beg Cheryl's Ma to bring me up here to see my Mum _every _weekend and school holiday until I was old enough to hop a train and come myself. Just stepping out the car or off that train platform - it was like - it felt like safety."

Brendan's fidgeting now, wringing his hands and shifting, his face falling into something devastating, and Ste can see that he agitated. He can recognise that look in his eyes, the one where he's given too much away and now he's regretting it, feeling like an idiot, too vulnerable, too much power lost, _shit, what did I just say_, and Ste does the first thing he can think of to stop Brendan from shuttering back up, tight and impenetrable where Ste can't _see _him anymore because he can't cope with that, not ever again. He's had the darkest parts of Brendan and he's too greedy to give that up.

"When I was eleven my stepdad broke my arm in two places," he blurts out and suddenly it's _his_ hands that are shaking. Brendan's attention wavers and he looks at Ste and Ste sees the slow trickle of focus fix upon him bit by bit. He watches Brendan dig himself out of that place he just went to and get back in the moment. "My Mam took me to the hospital and they 'ad all these questions about bruises and - and I 'ad this other fracture apparently, been there for ages. She just kept sayin' I was clumsy and that I liked to get in fights so they asked her to leave and started tellin' me that I was in a safe place and that if I needed to tell anyone anything then they could help me. They talked about safety like I 'ad any idea what that meant."

He does a weird, nervous high-pitched laugh that sounds a bit like he's been strangled and Brendan looks at him, eyelashes fluttering and breathing heavily.

"You never told me that before," is what he eventually says. "Said he was - but you never said he hurt you."

"Don't really like talkin' about it," he tells Brendan meaningfully and desperately hopes that he can see the admission for what it is. "_I_ feel better."

"What?"

"I feel better than yesterday."

Brendan breathes a dry laugh and goes loose, shoulders slumping and body leaning heavily over the balcony like he's suddenly exhausted. "Good. That mean I might not have to make a permanent bed up for you on the sofa?"

"Don't know about that, let's not get too ahead of ourselves," Ste snorts. They fall into a peaceful silence and Ste doesn't take his eyes away from Brendan. The glow from below, the beauty and safety of Dublin, lights him up completely and he's mesmerising. He knows Ste's watching and he doesn't seem bothered. The glazed, haunted look has gone from his eyes and been replaced by something thoughtful and quiet.

"What d'you think of the statue?" Brendan asks eventually.

"Which one?"

"The wooden man in the club."

"I hate it," Ste answers immediately because he's been waiting for this question for two bloody years. "That thing has _always _scared the arse off me, it's horrible. It stands there with it's arms all in front of it like it's after a fight." Brendan laughs, real and relieved like he might have been waiting for this moment as well. "Was that one of your questions?"

"Might have been," he says with his head bowed and turned towards Ste, coy and so, _so _sweet smile across his lips.

"Come on then. Bring 'em on, I can take 'em all, me." He spreads his arms and Brendan stands to full height, takes the most gentle hold of Ste's wrists and the sensitive skin underneath his bandages tingles, warm and itchy.

"Nope. I'm gonna spring 'em on you when you least expect it," he says and once again Ste's caught up in him so thoroughly that he can't think past this bubble they exist in whenever they're together. Brendan looks at him, looks down at his own hands on Ste's body like he's not sure how they got there. Ste's not sure how the two of them get _anywhere _that they end up half the time. "I shouldn't do this, y'know," he mumbles softly, thumbs stroking across the gauze fabric.

"Shouldn't do what?" Ste asks, just as soft, just as close and private.

"Touch you like this. Get so close. I don't even think I should _look _at you." Whatever he's saying seems irrelevant when he _is _looking at Ste like _that._

"You know that I want you to," he says honestly and Brendan swallows, thick and painful. This is it. The moment's approaching like a speeding train and all Ste can do is try to hold on.

"Do you know that if you tried to kiss me again right now that I couldn't stop you?" Brendan asks and _Christ, _the way he says it, the frank, raw and bleeding honesty, it pierces straight through him and he hears himself exhale roughly like he's been punched. He's yearned for Brendan's honesty for so long and now it's too much and he's drowning in it. Be careful what you wish for. Fuck.

"I don't know what to do with that, Brendan," Ste tells him, voice shaking.

"I need you to walk away, right now. Go back inside and just give me some space." The words are blunt but the tone isn't.

Brendan's pleading with him and Ste realises with horror that Brendan had said _no, _that he couldn't do this, and Ste hadn't believed him, not really. He'd thought, just like he'd spent the last two years thinking, that Brendan would just get over whatever issues he's fighting with and give in. He _should _know better than that. He's had enough experience to know better. The fact that Brendan loves him, the fact that Ste - feels the same, doesn't necessarily change anything. It never has, before.

It doesn't mean he wants to back off, though. "Why do I 'ave to be the one to go?"

"Because you're stronger than me, Steven," he says with such conviction and Ste feels his face screw up, confused. He shakes his head.

"That's not fair, why do I 'ave to be stronger?"

"You don't have to be, you just _are._"

"You're so full of shit, Brendan - " and he gets no further than that.

Brendan slides into him, against him, turns and pins him to the railings, arms around his waist, and Ste goes instantly fluid against him, moving up and into his body like instinct, like he was born to do this. Brendan's mouth is on his and he's pushing back, angling his head and then Brendan's tongue is between his parted lips, dragging against his own, coaxing him out and he goes, follows Brendan's every move with one of his own.

There's friction between them, Brendan's ground is stood firmly and directly between Ste's quickly spreading legs, and Ste's hard already just from the taste of Brendan's hot mouth, from his lapping tongue and solid weight.

It's the second time they've kissed since yesterday, third time they've kissed in over a year, and Jesus it's so good. The way Brendan's mouth moves over his own, moves _into _him, is smooth and effortless. He knows Ste's lips and tongue like they're his own. Knows the rest of him, too, the way he grinds against Ste's hips, hard and rolling and sure.

Ste bends one leg at the knee, plants his foot against one bar of the balcony rail, and Brendan slips closer, more snug between his thighs, and moans straight into his mouth. The sound sparks like a wave of electricity from his brain to his dick and Ste runs one quick hand down Brendan's body into the nothing of space between them, pushing his fingers under material to feel warm skin. He plants it, palm flat, against the finely trembling muscles of Brendan's stomach and pushes down, flicks open the button on his jeans, works his fingers inside more layers until he touches hot, solid flesh.

Brendan tears out of the kiss with a gasp, breathes _Steven _against his lips, and Ste grips him tight with his fist, no messing about, can't, not after all this time, and strokes him hard. Brendan half collapses against him, hands gripping the railing at his back for support, and Ste kisses him again, devours his mouth and takes and _takes_ because Brendan can't moan and shake under his touch _and _kiss him back coordinately at the same time.

He picks up the pace, tightens his fingers and strips Brendan's dick, rough how he likes it, squeezes him at the tip until he can slick him up with precome. He starts to shake, tiny shivers at first and then growing until he's helplessly pushing up into the circle of Ste's fist and he drops his head against Ste's shoulder and gasps for breath like he's drowning.

"No - " Ste grinds out, voice a shattered wreck, and he fits his other hand around Brendan's neck, pushes him back until their foreheads are pressed together. "I wanna look at you when you come, want - want you to look at me, it's me, _me_ doin' this to you, always will be, always be the only one who can have you like this - "

"Steven - "

"Brendan - " and that's all it takes.

Brendan tenses against him, damp breath ragged across Ste's face and cut with tiny, broken sounds that make him weak. He watches the dark smudges of Brendan's eyelashes against his cheeks, the kissed-red part of his lips, and drinks in every detail like a man dying of thirst. Brendan spills over his hand and he doesn't relent, uses the sticky come to wet his way, make the slip-slide easier, until Brendan finally gives one last violent shudder and chokes out a whispered _stop._

Ste's burning up, lit up from the inside and completely past caring, and he fumbles the button on his own jeans and uses his palm cupped around Brendan's neck to pull him close for another kiss. He gets his hand on himself and groans, painful pressure easing, and then Brendan pushes his fingers through Ste's own and shakes him off. He's about to protest, although he's not sure he can _speak _let alone argue at this stage, but then Brendan's on his knees and Ste's making a sound like he's wounded and pushing his fingers into soft, dark hair like he's lost control of his limbs.

Brendan swallows him down, eyes up, locked on Ste, and he can't help it, he grips Brendan's hair tight, fingernails scraping across his scalp, and pushes into the wet heat of his mouth until he's all the way with the flutter of Brendan's throat around the head of his dick. Brendan's eyes snap shut and Ste wills his fingers to pry themselves loose but then he's looking up again, giving Ste the smallest nod, want in his bright eyes and it's all the permission he needs to fuck Brendan's perfect, capable mouth hard.

It doesn't take long, not with the sight of Brendan's mouth wrapped so wet and confident around him, the slide of his tongue and lips against Ste's raw-rubbed nerve endings, the feeling of every inch of him surrounded by damp, sucking heat, never felt so good in his life as he does in Brendan's mouth, and when Brendan presses two fingers behind his balls, cups and rolls him in his rough palm, he chokes out Brendan's name, buries deep in his throat and comes so hard he sees bright, vivid colours bleed through his vision like splashing paint on wave after rolling wave of pressure and white-hot heat.

He thinks he's moaning but he's trying not to. He's definitely collapsing, however, sliding down the metal at his back until he's half sprawled in Brendan's lap, legs splayed to either side of his kneeling body and everything tucked back into his jeans where it belongs, somehow. Brendan taking care of him, again.

Brendan's silent and Ste's vision clears just in time to see him lick his swollen lips.

He stares, mouth open and body trembling and weak, and Brendan looks back, not an inch of smug on his face, just fascinated awe. The whole thing probably lasted about ten minutes but Ste feels like an entire lifetime has just passed and he's staring into the abyss, again, and desperate to jump. He's sureness and adoration and the overwhelming urge to get close, all-encompassing, more like a necessity than anything he wants, vital like oxygen, and he slides his hands over Brendan's shoulders because he's lost his voice and can't ask, he's more terrified than anything that Brendan won't come.

Something cracks between them and Brendan wraps him up, pulls him up close to properly straddle his knees and Ste's literally falling against him with all his weight because he's officially done, wrung dry and flayed raw with nothing else to him but how he feels about Brendan and the love he has for his family, the only parts of him that matter.

It makes everything so easy, suddenly. He knows that he's the only one of them having this particular revelation, though. They've done a lot of things together but being on the same page about where they stand has _never _been one of them. He feels Brendan take a breath and prepares himself for whatever comes next.

"I'm sorry, that was - I dunno what just happened - " He says it likes he's genuinely shocked and Ste can't help an undignified snort against his neck. "Christ, anyone down there coulda just gotten a right eyeful."

They're five stories up but Brendan's right and Ste grins into his skin, the exhibitionist in him absolutely thrilled with the idea.

"It's not funny, these are my kind-of-neighbours. How am I gonna look them in the eye when I don't know which ones have - y'know - "

"Looked you in the eye?" Ste asks and snorts, again, lost to hysteria all of a sudden because Brendan hasn't given him the speech, not yet, but he knows it's coming.

Brendan chokes a laugh and groans, outburst of frustration and resignation. He digs his fingers into Ste's back and squeezes him almost painfully close. It feels like the last time and Ste finds himself ever-so-quietly pleading, "please don't do this."

"I have to. I promised you that I wouldn't take this from you again and look - look what I did. You can't trust me, not for anything."

He thinks about arguing, about telling Brendan he didn't _take _a damn thing, but he knows it would be pointless. Brendan's determined to martyr both of them to this stupidly noble self-sacrifice and if coming down his throat didn't deter him then nothing Ste says will. More than anything he's just tired of holding back.

"I trust you, Brendan. You just don't trust yourself," he says flatly and he sounds exhausted. He closes his eyes and slumps, feels like he could go to sleep here on the balcony floor in Brendan's lap.

"Semantics. Come on, get up." Brendan prods him until he has to move just to try and smack his hand away and he uses Ste's shifted-back weight to get both his arms around his middle and haul him up. He goes immediately blind and dizzy and falls back against the railings, one strong hand gripping under his elbow and another soft against his cheek. He peers up through the fog, into Brendan's concerned and guilty face. "Look at you, fuckin' - state you're in, what am I doin'?"

"Thanks," he deadpans and closes his eyes again and lets Brendan straighten out his clothes and brush gravel and dust off his arse.

"Steven, look at me," Brendan says softly and he does and wishes he didn't have to. "It's not just about what you've been through, okay? It's about us. It's about me and how I hurt you, about what I did to you, about how everything gets so messed up when it's about you. The things I do - I couldn't risk it, not with you. It'd kill me."

Brendan's honesty cleaves through him and he looks away, down at the floor, numb and cold and half-alive. They've had more frank and open discussion in the past few days than they've ever had in the whole time they've known each other. Ste's actually keen to catch a break from it, if he's really honest, and he's willing to bet Brendan is, too. Even so, space is something he's not going to give Brendan easily.

"It's okay, I get it."

He gets it. He does. Brendan sees the risks and Ste's in a place where he doesn't even care, where all he can do is want and need and fuck the consequences, but Brendan isn't; he's afraid and too desperate to deny Ste anything so yeah, Ste has to be strong because _it'd kill me _has too much truth behind it. He can sacrifice this thing between them if it means having Brendan alive and whole.

"Wanna go inside?" Brendan asks and studies him carefully when he nods his okay. Whatever he finds in Ste's face must be good enough because he backs off slowly, slides open one clear-glass door, pulls aside the blinds and stands waiting. "Don't ever say I'm not a gentleman."

Ste finds he has just enough in him for one more smile.


	13. i've lost it all, i'm just a silhouette

Notes: I struggled with this a ridiculous amount and I'm sorry it took so long to get here. Thank you to everyone who's read and left a review, I really am so thankful for every single one of you. It's been massively encouraging and I really appreciate it! Title and lyrics from the song Youth by Daughter.

Word Count ~6700

Warnings: Child abuse, both sexual and physical. A lot of angst. There's a particularly dark part near the end that has _strong _allusions to childhood sexual abuse.

* * *

_shadows settle on the place,_

_that you left._

_our minds are troubled_

_by the emptiness._

Brendan sits on the enamel edge of the bathtub. He feels, faintly, like he might be cold. He also feels like he might be tired and hungry or maybe thirsty, mouth and throat whiskey dry in that horrible sobering-up way, but none of it seems to matter, none of it seems to penetrate. All that he is is swollen full of something bright and searing hot and rushing, flooding, pounding through him and pushing against his edges, making him bigger and more and better.

He knows what it is. He'd be an idiot if he couldn't see it. He hasn't dared to so much as think the word since Walker and the warehouse but there it is. He remembers once telling Ashleigh what it meant and he'd understood it in a peripheral kind of way, understood maybe that he'd even felt it himself even if it was all twisted up and damaged and lost in translation. He'd understood more clearly it the moment he'd seen Steven helping Cheryl to load up their bags into a taxi to the airport after Lynsey's death, sharper still in the second that Douglas had called him to shake his entire world apart. He'd understood it in that warehouse whilst Steven had knelt on the cold ground and bled because of him.

Brendan had understood what it meant during all those moments but one hour ago he'd still felt like he'd been hit with an A-Bomb.

Steven had stood in front of him, tired and bruised and fragile but so sure. There was no trace of doubt, no clouded judgement like the morning after Walker, no nightmare in his eyes like last night when he'd told Brendan that how he felt didn't make him weak. It was all Steven when he'd said _you know I want you to _and how was he supposed to resist that? Because he'd promised them both, that's why. Promised and then broken that promise just like he had every time.

It doesn't matter, though. He can't be objective or smart right now because this feeling inside him just won't dim no matter how hard he tries to clamp down on it, he might as well be trying to sit on a wet balloon. Steven had wanted him, all of him, completely and without hesitation, and that alone is enough to make him feel half-delirious. He knows without a shadow of a doubt that if he went to Steven now and says yes that would be it.

He knows it but just because he _can _do it doesn't mean that he _should._

Whether it's by Brendan's own darkness or by someone else who's out to get to him, Steven isn't safe as long as Brendan so openly adores him with his heart on his sleeve where every nasty fucker out there can see exactly where he's vulnerable. That includes himself.

* * *

There's something on him. A shifting, kicking, wriggling something. He's aware of something small poking his face and then he's abruptly winded by a blunt object to the stomach.

"Jesus - "

"Auntie Cheryl says wake up, Uncle Brendan."

Wake up? He can't fucking breathe.

"Leah?" he wheezes, coughs. "Darlin', could you move your knee please?"

She giggles - fucking evil little sound if truth be told - and sprawls over him flat like a starfish. It's slightly better. He wraps his arms around her loosely and she snuggles into him and she's so warm, so small against him. Her hair smells like fruity talcum powder and he breathes it in, content in the moment.

It's been years since he's had morning cuddles like this and it makes him ache to see his boys. He doesn't know if he's putting them at risk by doing so but maybe, when he gets up, could take a while, he's not exactly slept well, taste and smell and lingering touch of Steven all-fucking-over him, he might risk giving them a call.

"Do you like Dublin, so far?" Brendan asks Leah softly.

"Mmhmm. I liked the puppets." He breathes a laugh. "Mummy said my daddy can get better here as well, so I like that."

She says it so casually and his throat constricts and it feels like a real effort to grind out, "she said that?"

"She said someone hurt him and that's what gave him all those bruises and now he needs to get better."

No child should ever have to see their father in the state Steven's in; no child should have to process that level of information. He can see it clearly just how far down the bloodline Walker's actions have poisoned. Brendan bears that responsibility heavily, adds it to the ever-growing pile.

"Yeah, someone did. Your daddy's really strong, though. A few bruises can't keep him down."

"I know he is. He can lift me and Lucas at the same time and Lucas weighs loads," she says with the utmost certainty and he thinks, not quite what he meant but near enough. "Bet you could lift me and Lucas _and _my daddy at the same time."

He full on laughs out loud. "Oooohh yeah. Easy."

"And Auntie Chez as well?" She peers up at him.

"What, with her big bum? No way," he whispers conspiratorially and she snorts and giggles. "Shhhh, though. Don't tell her I said that. She'll have my neck."

Leah shushes with him and holds out her hand, little finger out like she's politely drinking tea from a china cup. "Promise."

He links his own through hers slowly, so tiny in his grasp, and she gives him a satisfied nod like she's pleased he got it so quickly.

"What're you wantin' to do today, then?"

"Dunno," she says and sounds so much like Steven that he laughs.

"Come on. Anything you want, anything at all."

She eyes him suspiciously and goes thoughtful. He would bet money that she's thinking up the most outlandish thing she can just to test him.

"I wanna go on the big wheel. Mummy said it's really dangerous."

"Your mummy's probably scared of heights," he laughs.

"Will you and daddy take me on it, then?"

He holds out his hand again just like Leah did before and she hooks her little finger back through his and smiles. "You leave it with me. I'll get you up there, I promise."

Brendan thinks about him and Steven taking her out for the day, thinks about getting them a carriage on the wheel and holding her up against the glass and laughing and -

There's a pull like yearning inside him, he wants it that bad. Dangerous what-ifs he can't afford to indulge.

"Right, come on. You're supposed to be gettin' me up and look atchu'. You're being lazier than I am." He pokes her and she giggles and rolls off him.

When he gets up she sits on the bed with her arms folded, wearing a cheeky grin, and he drags her into his arms and repeats, _lazy, _and carries her out into the hall.

Walking into the kitchen is a bit like walking onto a stage; like being the last one up is some kind of comedy act. He hoists Leah up in front of his face so he doesn't have to look at Cheryl and hereye-roll or Amy watching him curiously with her daughter. Or, Steven. Mostly Steven. Steven who looks like he's slept just as well as Brendan has - that is to say he _hasn't. _

This level of scrutiny first thing after waking up isn't something he's ever going to get used to.

"Coffee there, lazy-arse?" Cheryl asks with a snort. Every day she insults him more and more and he can feel the thaw of it like hot steam heating a solid block of ice. Yesterday he'd helped her in the kitchen and when Lynsey's parents phoned she let him pull her into his arms and thumb the tears off her face.

"Please," he says because it's polite and they're not quite at the place where he can just grunt at her for a response. Not yet.

He puts Leah on the kitchen top next to the sink and leans back against it next to her, takes the steaming mug Cheryl offers him and has a sip. He doesn't listen to what Cheryl and Amy are talking about, just lets the words float over him comfortably, sounds of busy, family life, safe and warm, but he's hyper-aware of Steven at the breakfast counter where he sits sipping his drink.

His eyes are smudged dark and all he's wearing on top is a thin, white t-shirt. Brendan hasn't seen him in so few clothes in ages and it's unnerving; he looks tiny and fragile, pale and exhausted. He's taken the bandages off his wrists and the red burns and ugly, raised scars stand out in stark relief against his skin. He's a shocking sight, so surreal against the backdrop of such normalcy, like his image has been cut out of a police warning pamphlet and superimposed over the top of a spread from an Ikea catalog.

Steven stares, silent and haunted, down at the marble like there might be an answer buried there in the smooth swirls.

" - so what d'you think, Ste?"

His head snaps up and Brendan's, too. Amy's asking Steven a question and they'd both been too absorbed to notice.

"About what?"

She dips her head in concern but goes on without making a fuss. "About us going shopping to get some stuff for the funeral?"

"Actually - " Brendan interrupts and it's all eyes on him. "We had a request, didn't we Leah?"

She gives a firm nod and a little _yup _and Amy raises her eyebrows. "Okay."

"We were wondering if we could go for a spin on the big wheel."

Amy chokes out a laugh.

"Brendan," she coos, draws his name out like something sweet. "Are you asking my permission to go on the big wheel?"

"Always gotta check with the boss, Amy."

"True, " she quips. "Yeah, we could swing by after shopping."

"It's okay mummy; Uncle Brendan said that him and daddy would take me."

Fuck. That makes it sound like he's organised some kind of date for them behind Steven's back. Brendan can't meet Steven's eyes but he's very aware that they're on him.

"Did he now?" Amy asks slyly, fucking smart-arse, and Brendan feels himself curl up slightly and cringe. "Well, if daddy's up for it then I don't see why not."

"Please, daddy."

"Alright, then," Steven relents and his voice is hoarse. "Since _Uncle Brendan _said so."

It's the first time Brendan's heard it since last night, _want you to look at me, it's me, me doin' this to you, always will be, always be the only one who can have you like this, _rough, low, Steven's fingers around the length of him and he wants to choke on the air he's breathing it felt that good.

He looks up, compulsion too hard to fight when all he can feel is the ghost of that hot touch, and when their gaze meets it's like a fusebox blowing. It cracks and sparks and he can't believe that nobody else in the room is aware of the surge of power, how the world can go on around them like the very Earth isn't shaking when they look at each other.

Everything else fades to beige like they're alone in the clear eye on a sandstorm and Brendan has to get out.

"Right - " He downs his coffee and pushes off the cabinet. "I'm gonna go get a shower."

He edges around Steven at the end of the counter and doesn't let any part of them touch on his was past.

* * *

He phones Eileen from the lounge and they exchange awkward pleasantries, as per the usual. He asks how Michael is and she resolutely doesn't ask him about his love life. He doesn't know whether he's grateful or offended.

"We're goin' out for the day, me and a - a friend and his kids," he tells her haltingly. "Though the boys might like to come, too."

"We're driving up to Belfast this afternoon, Bren. Lynsey's Ma and Pa sent us a letter about the funeral and both me and Declan wanted to be there to say goodbye," she replies and he thinks, of course they would, Lynsey was a family friend.

"Obviously, yeah, well - I'll see you guys tomorrow then. We're comin' up first thing."

He says his goodbyes and thinks about having his family there and it's like some kind of light through the darkness, something to help bear the weight of burying someone who'd meant so much to him, to all of them.

Steven makes toasted sandwiches and true to his profession they can't just be _normal. _He puts whatever he finds in Brendan's cupboards together in a mad mesh and Brendan's pretty sure there's some kind of vegetable concoction amongst the melting cheese but they're good enough that he wonders if Steven remembers how to make then again. Brendan watches him surreptitiously as he prods the food around his own plate and actually eats very little. He doesn't want to be the guy that makes tallies about what Steven eats and doesn't eat but if he _has_ to become him then he will.

After lunch they head out.

Cheryl and Amy take Lucas because he's inherited his mother's fear of heights, something which Leah relentlessly teases him about, and Brendan waits on one of the barstools whilst Steven wraps Leah up warm in her pink coat.

"Right," Steven says with a clap. He takes Leah's hand and pulls her over.

He stands awkwardly and his smile is cool and it's like a blast of freezing air against him. Brendan can feel the distance between them, clear and sharp like needles worming their way under his skin. He's bereft with the loss of something abstract and indeterminable.

"Ready?" Brendan asks.

"Are _you_."

"Hey, I'm used to taking kids around Dublin. You're the amateur here," Brendan quips and Steven's lips turn up further at the corner, something more genuine. "Watch and learn, young Steven."

"Alright, Obi-Wan."

"Originals or prequels?" he suddenly blurts out, urge to fill space with prattle and that's usually Steven's thing, not his.

"Another one of your questions?" Steven asks and Brendan nods and gets up and heads for the door. "I watched the prequels first 'cause they were on Sky once. The originals looked a bit naff after them."

"Blasphemer," Brendan says with one hand over his heart.

"They're all a bit camp, though, come on."

"Yeah," he says and breathes a laugh. "But that's what makes them so good."

They walk and fill space and it's meaningless and there's so much missing but he enjoys it all the same. It's another clear day, crisp and bright, sky blue for miles off high into the atmosphere. Steven looks better outside. He's wrapped up in layers and his cheeks are flushed pink with cold, eyes bright from the breeze. There's still that constant, lingering darkness about him, that dampness over his personality, and Brendan tries to distract him by pointing out street signs and trying to, unsuccessfully, teach him how to pronounce them in Irish. Leah wants to fly so they hold a hand each and swing her clean off the pavement between them.

Brendan has an idea of what people are thinking when they look at the three of them.

"Look," Leah squeals and points and they're close to the wheel now, close enough to see individual people in the compartments.

Steven looks a bit green and Brendan dares to give him a nudge, just a small point of contact between them that makes his shoulder tingle pleasantly. "Y'okay?"

"I'm fine," he snaps petulantly and doesn't take his eyes off the looming structure. "It just - looks a bit higher than I thought it was, that's all."

"It's okay, daddy," Leah says with a sigh. "You can hold mine and Uncle Brendan's hand if you get scared."

Brendan full on laughs and Steven scowls and bodily smacks into his side, hard, harder than Brendan thinks he intended, some outpouring of what he can't express in words.

He flies off and nearly loses his balance but he manages to grab hold of Steven's arm which sends them both nearly lurching over. Brendan spins and gets his hands firm around Steven's back and Steven grips both his elbows tightly and pulls a goofy _that-was-a-close-one _face. They're both breathing hard and so, so close and Steven's laughing until he's not and then it's like two years ago on Brendan's sofa when Steven had realised what was about to happen. The body in his arms is so warm, the smell of Steven so familiar. The way adrenaline pounds through him from the physicality, the way he absorbs Steven's anger, can take it, whatever Steven dishes out, makes his breath catch and hitch. For long, terrifying seconds he can't think of one good-enough reason why they shouldn't be doing this.

"Oi!" a high voice shouts and Brendan steps back and splays his hands like he's been shocked. Steven looks at Leah, rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, and she's standing with her hands on her hips, pouting and tapping one foot. "Can we get in the queue, now?"

"Anyone want candyfloss? I want candyfloss," Brendan says quickly.

"_YespleaseBrendanthat'sagoodidea_," Steven replies in one relieved exhale. "We'll be over in the queue."

Brendan walks away and with every inch of distance the pressure pushing against his earsdrums lessens. He gets behind an elderly couple in the queue for the little food trailer and jams his shaking hands into his pockets. His mind wipes clean, completely blank, grey, he _strains _against thought, pushes _everything_ out with sheer brute force. It's okay. They're okay. Everything's okay.

"Our lass said so, Frank - "

"I don't care what she says, she's too young to understand - "

"She's twenty-two. You're gonna have to let her grow up some day."

"She doesn't know her own mind, Pat - "

"She loves him - "

"She doesn't know what he's like. He's bad news."

"She's been through a lot, Frank. You should trust her more, y'know?"

"I do trust her, it's everyone else I don't trust."

"You can't protect her from everything, love."

"Watch me."

Brendan dips his head and breathes a laugh. Typical. He's not asking for fucking signs here.

He turns his head over his shoulder and watches Steven swing Leah around in circles and everyone around the two of them looks at them like they're the most precious thing in the world, such a pretty little girl and her oh-so-beautiful daddy. They make quite the picture against the river and cobbles and the clear-blue sky.

He pays for three bags of candyfloss and walks back over slowly and wonders how it looks when he walks against that canvas.

"Thank you," Leah grins, all teeth and excitement, and snatches one bag off him viciously.

"Thanks, Brendan," Steven says, soft and too-fond. Brendan can see that he's still caught up in that moment from before, the way he leans his body into Brendan's space unconsciously like it's just something natural, like he has to _think _to _not _do it rather than the other way around.

Brendan grabs a huge pinch-full of pink fluff and shoves it into his mouth. With his face full, he says, "no problem," around the sticky, melting sugar and Steven grins and shakes his head.

"You've got some in your mustache," he laughs. "It looks like you've tried to dye it pink."

"Where?" Brendan puts a hand up against his mouth but Steven shakes his head again.

"'Ere, I'll get it." He reaches up and pulls at the hair above his top lip, hand slowing until he's basically just staring and stroking Brendan's mouth. He imagines what Steven's thinking, lips and cock and the choked off, high-pitched whimper he'd made when he'd come down Brendan's throat, and he can hear it and see it all himself, flickering through his brain like an old recording, sharp and saturated and everything but that and Steven fades out like dimming cinema lights.

"Steven - "

"Got it," he says quickly and jerks his hand back.

"Yeah?" Brendan asks, low and soft, and Steven breathes, _yeah_, in reply.

Then his face changes, looks like he's just snagged himself on something in his head. He closes down completely and Brendan can't read him anymore and it feels like a light's gone out and he's been plunged in darkness.

Steven steps back out of his space and gives him a tight smile and sound and air rushes back in around him with a deep _whoosh_. Brendan coughs a lump out of his throat and thinks, _okay, good_.

"Next, please."

They've reached the front of the queue and Leah pulls on Steven's hand, practically drags him up the metal platform, the sound of her shoes thumping and rattling, and Brendan follows. The compartments are glass-walled and bullet-shaped and seat about six people on two benches that run along the two longest walls. Steven hauls Leah in and she shimmies to the end of the bench and Brendan climbs in after her and sits opposite. Steven parks next to her and sits and wrings his hands.

"It's perfectly safe, y'know," Brendan says and Steven snaps up to look at him with an expression that promises hot death.

"Shut up, I'm not even - " he starts and then his voice clams up and he makes a strangled whimper when the compartment lurches off the platform and moves up a few feet. Steven glowers at him. "Shut up."

Leah's all over the place as they climb. She clambers into Brendan's lap to look north over the river and chatter in his ear, questions about the city that he answers with stories from his childhood, then back onto the opposite bench to look the other way and Steven gets looser to the sound of her fascinated, awestruck laughter and watching Brendan talk, absorbing every word avidly.

He points out the confectionery at the corner of East Wall Road and tells them about how he and a friend once befriended the little old lady who worked there. Every odd Saturday she'd let them come in and ice cakes for a couple of quids spending money and one day they'd proceeded to ice rude words across the top of every cream bun in the display window. She'd booted them out with an honest to God broomstick like they were starring in some kind of coming-of-age comedy.

Right at the top the supports and framework become invisible and it feels like they're floating completely free a million miles up, all of Dublin sprawled out underneath them like a roadmap rug on a nursery floor. It's like they're part of the very sky itself, smothered in blue and light prisms casting rainbows off the glass. It's an endless, yawning nothing above and it's liberating, exhilarating to the point that Brendan feels reckless and stupid.

"We're on top of the world, Steven." The words rush out of him and he's smiling and Steven looks back at him, lip bitten and something a little wild behind his eyes. It stretches between them just like Dublin below, just as huge and chaotic. He's trying to tame a raging force of nature and he's already exhausted. "If you're scared you can still hold my hand."

Steven exhales like it's punched out of him and gives him the most blinding grin for split second before he does that thing again, the thing where he slams the shutters down and becomes impenetrable.

"Probably not a good idea," he says very, _very_ quietly and Brendan feels like an idiot for letting the sweeping views get the better of him.

He'd asked Steven to save the both of them from this and he's keeping his end of the bargain. Brendan knows that if he pushes much further they'll fall into it again, just like last night, just like always. He wants to say _thank you _or _I told you how strong you were _but he doesn't. Instead he just nods and looks away, out across the river, people milling around like insignificant dots below, their lives and loves and happiness and sadness meaningless to him but he suddenly feels the abstract weight of it all.

The wheel moves and Brendan feels like it's his own weight taking them down.

Leah's still now, pressed up against the glass at the very front with her palms smudging the glass. Steven looks out over his shoulder and Brendan doesn't let his gaze fall on his properly, just flicks his eyes between the view and Steven's face quickly. He catches the rapid flutter of Steven's eyes and the way his throat keeps bobbing like he's trying to swallow something thick and he can't.

They stay quiet and Brendan feels the silence settle on them like a suffocating blanket.

That, too, is impenetrable.

* * *

He drifts on a haze of blue and red. He's invincible in his yellow cape. Nothing can hurt him because he's a super hero.

_"Hey, boy."_

_"Yeah, dad."_

_"I need you to come help me fetch the barrels."_

_" - but - "_

_"Come on, Superman. Thought you were supposed to be strong. Or have I got that wrong? You just pretending to be that weedy little newsroom skivvy, now?"_

_"No!"_

_"Good. Then come on."_

_His father retreats. He's broad at the back. His shirt pulls across his shoulders. Brendan hates that shirt. It itches. That's all he knows. He's strong and the shirt itches._

_"Nana, I don't wanna do the barrels - "_

_"Don't start that game. You're da says you do somethin' you do it, you hear me? Don't be gettin' on his bad side."_

_"But my back hurts, Nana."_

_"You're always goin' on about your back. What's a young, strapping lad like you doing to put his back out like an old codger?" _

_" - just hurts that's all."_

_"Nonsense. Go and help your daddy, go on."_

_All he knows is that he's strong. He's Superman. The shirt itches. His father is broad. _

_It's okay this time, though. This time the shirt doesn't itch. This time there is no shirt._

He opens his eyes and breathes. He was drifting, nothing more. He's not there and he's certainly not a frightened boy again. He's a grown man and he knows that, rationally, those shadows can't hurt him anymore. That's all they are now, shadows and fragments and memories.

It doesn't quell his irrational urge to go into the room next to his and the one at the end of the hall and just set his eyes on Steven's children, just to see them whole and resting and perfect. It doesn't stop his heart racing like he's run miles or his palms sweating like he's terrified.

This state of constant hyper-awareness is a familiar one. It comes and goes, always has, all through his life. One sharp reminder and that's it, he's lost to it for days or weeks at a time. It's so much worse this time around, though. His skin is ripped open and his nerve-endings are all hanging out and every brush with memory is like a slicing blade over the most fragile parts of him. This time he's made himself too vulnerable to too many people and it's impossible to defend with a cracked shield.

This time he hears his father's taunting words in Walker's voice. He sees his father's failure to make him a man in Steven's bruises.

He sees his worth through the eyes of Leah and Lucas. He's the man that nearly took their daddy away from them and how is he supposed to make that up to them?

He hears a bang from next door and listens to Steven tossing and turning, third night in a row until he inevitably crashes past Brendan's door like a staggering drunk - it's like clockwork now.

Except there's no footsteps past his door this time. Steven goes in the other direction and he's quick. There's seconds of straining silence and then the unmistakeable sound of heaving.

It's hard to ignore the pull that sings to him like a siren's song, the itch to go and comfort, but he reins himself in and doesn't move an inch until shuffling feet pass his door followed by an unmistakeable wet sniff. His body switches to autopilot in the space of a breath and he's up and dressed and out the door and stood in the pale kitchen light watching Steven stand against the sink, all his weight slumped forward against the stainless steel under his elbows.

Brendan wants to go to him and touch but he doesn't. It would only lead somewhere, he doesn't doubt that for one second.

He wants to ask if Steven's okay but he doesn't. Brendan knows he's not and it's beyond patronising.

So instead he waits for Steven to speak.

"Did I wake you up?" he eventually croaks out. He still doesn't turn around.

"No, I was already awake."

Steven chuffs a paper-dry laugh. "Do you ever sleep? S'bad as me."

"I run a club; I'm basically nocturnal."

"Was really hard gettin' used to workin' days again after working at Chez Chez," Steven says vaguely, thick through his still-sore throat. "Kept injuring myself on the oven because I was half asleep for about a month."

Brendan sits on one of the kitchen stools. It's different from before when he would have gone to him, when he would have pulled Steven close and offered him comfort and safety to put him to sleep. There's a cavernous distance between them and he hates it, leaves him feeling cold and worse because he doesn't know how to close it without going too far.

"I'm sorry I sacked you," Brendan blurts out all of a sudden and that _does _make Steven turn around. There's a bemused curve to his lips and his eyes are dull and damp and red-rimmed.

"Cheers," he says with a tiny laugh and Brendan nods, his brain turning itself over and over looking for something else to apologise for because he's got some kind of ball rolling here and if Steven doesn't stop him they'll be here all night.

"And for that time I paid someone to sleep with your boyfriend."

"Okay - "

"And I found a cupcake in your fridge once - " He gestures with his hand. " - stuck my finger in the frosting - "

"Brendan?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't 'ave to do this, y'know. I think we're a bit past all that."

"I just need you to know - I think about those things. I haven't just brushed 'em under the rug, y'know?" Brendan tells him desperately.

"Yeah, I know you haven't," Steven says grimly and they fall into a silence that's prickly and unnatural. It itches at his skin until he wants to scratch himself bloody. Steven looks down at the floor and Brendan can't see his eyes.

"How come you never told me about your stepdad?" he asks because it's been gnawing at him for a long time and what the fuck is wrong with him? It's like he's trying to fill the space with the heaviest shit he can dredge up to make up for the loss of that indefinable _something _between them.

"Would it 'ave made a difference if I had?" Steven asks bluntly and there's a question.

"I dunno - I'd like to think so," he says lamely but he doesn't know if it's true. "Tell me why. Honestly"

"Couldn't. I didn't ever want you to think I was weak."

"Fuck." His eyes slam shut and his stomach churns violently in a rolling lurch. It's good. It's a reminder of what he is. He _needs _this right now to bolster his shaky convictions.

"And - " Steven halts, nerves shaking through his voice but he seems to steam-roll through it like Brendan's plea for honesty has opened some floodgate. He needs it but he doesn't want it, not a bit. "I think that - that if I'd told you and you'd kept on - just woulda been so much worse, just with - how I felt about you - y'know?"

"I'm sorry," Brendan whispers because that's all the volume he can manage. "I'm sorry I ever made you feel like that."

_I'm sorry you've felt like that your whole life._

"I wish you'd give yourself a break, Brendan.

"What're you talkin' about?

"Beatin' yourself up all the time over _everything. _We can't be together because you're bad news, you can't be happy because you blame yourself for everything that's 'appened." Steven speaks softly, looks at him sadly. "It's gonna kill you, Bren. _I _forgive you - why can't you forgive yourself?"

It's too late for this psychoanalysing bullshit and he's already raw enough without Steven picking at his scabs. What he wants to do is smash something, throw his knuckles into the wall and feel his bones grind and crack, round on Steven and tell him to shut the fuck up.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Steven," he says coolly and it's a warning.

"Are you _actually_ serious?" Steven asks incredulously. "I know exactly what I'm talkin' about and you _know _I do."

"Steven - "

"Brendan!" His voice rings out through the whole, bouncing off every wall. Then there's silence, just the sound of Brendan's ragged breath. "Give over, for fucks sake. Stop trying to fight with everyone and every_thing_."

"Seems like _you're_ after a fight right now," Brendan grinds out, holds back the tide of white-hot emotion that's threatening to overwhelm him.

Steven does this to him, brings everything to the surface with hardly a word and he imagines what it would be like, a real and honest brawl between them, what it would be like for them to tear and hit and hurt _each other._ He knows Steven's thought about hitting him; when it comes, Brendan recognises that look in his eyes for exactly what it is.

"I'm tellin' you that I _know _what it's like to feel like nothing you do will ever make up for the shit you've caused," he says more evenly but Brendan can hear him trying not to snap; he's an elastic band pulled to it's limits, talking about a time before Brendan knew him, about a person that Brendan has only ever seen glimpses of. "How is torturing yourself over every little thing helpin' anyone?"

He doesn't answer, just silently seethes, stews, tries not to let Steven's words sink in and make him feel like there might be some kind of hope. He's not like Steven. He doesn't have that light in him, taken from him when he was too young to really see it dimming. Steven might understand some things but Walker had it right on the money when he'd said Steven was too blinded by him to see that Brendan can't be saved.

At his silence, Steven sags back against the counter. He wears weary resignation on his face like its well-worn; he knows he's fighting a losing battle. He_ knows._

"You've done so much to help me, Brendan. You've brought us to Dublin to protect my family. You did whatever awful fuckin' thing Walker wanted and came into that warehouse and saved my life," Steven says, voice low and wavering slightly with the last of his grim determination. "You're still in one piece after the life you've had. I wish you could see what a good man you are - wish you could see what I see.

"That's a nice speech, Steven," he says flatly and Steven just looks at him, though him. "You been rehearsing it?"

"Yeah, in the mirror and everything," he says lightly and it's an out, Steven's giving him a way to end this conversation that he's started out of sheer insanity and desperate need to clear the choking, stifling air, to ease some of the weight across his back, to give Steven a fucking _reason _to think he's worth a damn so Brendan can stop feeling so small under the enormity of his unshakeable adoration.

"Ouch." He takes it and feels relieved.

Steven scoffs, picks up a towel from the counter next to him and lobs it right at Brendan's head. "Thanks. I look that bad?"

"Nah, you're - " he thinks he might be about to say something ridiculous and embarrassing, mouth already trying to form the word _gorgeous__,_ so he stops and corrects. "You just look knackered that's all."

"Yeah, well, likewise," Steven says meaningfully.

"You tellin' me to go back to bed?"

"Probably both should. You're driving us up to Belfast tomorrow, don't forget."

He feels a shudder wrack through his body. Belfast. "Yeah, I know, I know - I'll be good. You comin'?"

Steven's eyes go wide and he blinks owlishly and Brendan's about to ask _what _but then he replays what he'd just said back in his head.

"Are you coming to bed? Your _own _bed, I meant - are you gonna try and get some sleep. In your own bed. That's - that's what I meant," he finishes lamely and then suddenly he's laughing, choking on the absurdity of it all. "Jesus."

Steven laughs, too, totally self-deprecating. None of this is lost on him. "Yeah, yeah. I'll see you in the mornin'."

"Night."

Brendan turns away and heads back to his room and he can feel Steven's eyes on him until he's out of sight.

He'll try and sleep, at the very least he might get _some _rest, but he knows that without Steven's warm, living skin under his hands, without his heart beating strong against Brendan's body, without his solid, comforting presence, neither of them are going to be able to keep the nightmares at bay tonight.


	14. through the silence of fireflies

Notes: This is a long chapter. Very long. I really didn't want to split it, though. Title and lyrics once again from the song Baltimore's Fireflies by Woodkid.

The beautiful new cover art is a picture drawn by teiubesc8 on tumblr (can't post full urls) and inspired by this fic. Her art is incredible and I recommend you all go swing by and admire it and give her lots of praise because she deserves it :)

Warnings: Allusions to child abuse, sexual and physical. Also mentions of domestic abuse.

Word Count ~ 9000

* * *

_what are the words that I'm supposed to say?_

_your white skin, swirling fireflies._

_darkness has surrounded baltimore bay._

_why don't you open your blue eyes?_

*x*x*_  
_

_His father has a hand fisted in Steven's hair and he drags him to his knees across grey concrete and forces Steven to look at Brendan, right in the eye, and tell him how much he's worth. _

_'Everything, Brendan'_

_'No'_

_His father hits him, tells him it's Steven's fault - 'you deserve this' in Brendan's own voice like a fucking echo and Steven says 'I know, I'm sorry' and Brendan wants to scream and rail but he can't, his father's sapped him of all his strength and all he can do is watch. He watches as Steven looks down at the ground and says 'you're worthless, Brendan, you'll never change' and Brendan wants to say 'no, I can, I have' but he can't do that either._

_He can't argue with that._

_He wants to but he can't._

_Brendan._

He wakes with a jolt, instantly alert in a split-second. He could swear blind someone just said his name somewhere close, sounded like it was right next to him, but he's alone in his room and he falls back into the pillows.

Hearing things. Un-fucking-surprising after all the sleep he hasn't had.

Dull, grey light spills in through his curtains and he checks the clock - 6:12am. The flat is silent. It's simultaneously unnerving and peaceful after the normal, everyday hustle and bustle he's gotten used to.

At least nobody can call him lazy today.

He shakes off the last of his dream and stands on wobbly legs, weak at the knees, his joints all pliant like plasticine. His head feels heavy and filled with something thick and syrupy and when he moves and starts to get dressed he feels like he's sloshing about sluggishly.

What he needs is something hot and extremely caffeinated.

When he gets into the hall he notices the kitchen light's off but his lounge is lit up with weak, wash-out sunlight shimmering in from between the blinds. At first glance it looks like nobody's in there but then he has a moment of utter, heart-stopping panic that has him reeling back an entire foot and gasping out a noise like a high, cut off shriek. He's moving on sheer unconscious force towards the body laid out on the fur rug close to the balcony doors.

Steven's facing away and on his side, one arm stretched up under his head, and Brendan skids onto his knees next to him, takes the arm bent out in front of him and rolls him onto his back and half into Brendan's lap, supports his shoulders with an arm around his back.

"Ste - Steven - wake up, hey - " he whispers hoarsely. His voice has abandoned him almost completely, stuck deep inside and can't claw its way up through thick, clouded-white fear.

Steven shifts and his eyelashes flutter. Brendan pulls him closer, secure and safe, and edges him towards slow consciousness with quiet, pleading noises.

"Wha - what's 'appened?" Steven asks roughly. His eyes are glassy he blinks rapidly, squints up at Brendan.

"I dunno, you tell me. I woke up and you were takin' a nap on my rug," Brendan tells him, tries to push humour through the terror in his trembling voice.

"Don't even remember fallin' asleep." Steven frowns, pulls one arm back to lean against his elbow and take some of his weight. He rubs his face with his free hand, swallows and winces. "I was just lookin' out the window after you'd gone back to bed."

"You probably passed out. Do you hurt, anywhere?" Brendan asks and Steven gives him a raised eyebrow and a dry half-smile in return. "Apart from in the obvious places, smart-arse."

"My back hurts but I did sleep on the floor," he says and arches a little against Brendan's body. "Ah - my arm."

The arm he was laying on. "Musta fallen on it. Just what you need, another injury."

"I love it, me. Makes me look well 'ard," he breathes like he's trying to laugh and talk and groan at the same time.

The usual bravado isn't even there, though. Steven looks openly scared and confused. He looks younger than he's ever looked and his eyes are fixed on Brendan's like he's begging for something to just be _okay. _He doesn't know why these things are happening to him and Brendan knows what it's like to feel like everything's falling out of your control.

"Yeah, alright, hard man. You're not planning on laying on the floor forever, though, right?" Brendan asks and Steven shakes his head and holds himself up whilst Brendan stands.

He reaches down and hauls Steven up off the rug and stays close to support him when he sways. They're both a bit unsteady on their feet and it's like the blind leading the fucking blind here. Steven tips his forehead against Brendan's shoulder and breathes into the material of his t-shirt and Brendan brings up shaking hands to rest lightly against his sides. _Just in case,_ he tells himself. _Don't want him to fall over again_.

After a while, when Steven's heart has stopper fluttering against Brendan's ribs, he murmurs, "y'okay?" and Steven nods and moves out of his embrace, clothes quietly whispering. "Sit down, I'm making you some toast - "

"Bren - "

"_Please," _Brendan chokes, tears out of him desperately and without thought and Steven's expression softens. Brendan goes on, tries to clear the pleading edge out of his voice, "I'll even put honey on it for you; supposed to be good for sore throats or something."

Steven snuffs a laugh through his nose. "You bought honey?"

"Yeah - umm, just saw it in the - in the shop and - "

"Knew that I loved it on toast?"

Brendan rolls his eyes, tries not to smile. "Don't flatter yourself."

Steven blinks slowly, smiles, indulgent and sweet and tired. "Knowing you, you probably bought the squirty bottled crap anyway."

"Au contraire, mon Steven," Brendan corrects with flourish, heads into the kitchen and gets out a jar of the good stuff.

"Nice," he says approvingly and perches on one of the stools. "I'm teaching you, aren't I?"

"Whatever, Jamie Oliver."

"Couldn't 'ave picked someone better?"

"Sorry, yeah, that was pretty offensive, " Brendan says with a sniff, puts the kettle on, slides two pieces of bread into the toaster, real scene of domesticity that he kind of hates because it make it seem like a possibility, like something they could easily have. He swallows, throat clicking painfully. "Ramsay or Nigella?"

"You know what?" Steven scoffs. "Nigella - any day."

Brendan chuckles, weird, kind of hysterical sound, and he feels his hands start to shake. "Just - I'll be back in one second, just stay - "

"I'm not a dog, Brendan. Where'd you think I'm gonna go?"

"Yeah - okay - I'll - " he stutters, points to the hall and Steven frowns at him.

Brendan hears his voice at his back as he scarpers into the bathroom and slams the door shut, falls back against it and sinks to the floor. He'd thought - Steven had been on the floor and he'd thought - he'd seen it in his head, all of it. Steven, pale, lips blue, cold skin and rigour. The word _dead _hits into him like a roughly thrown football, smacks into his chest and makes him breathless. What would he have done? Woken up Amy? Kept Leah and Lucas away? Phoned an ambulance so some paramedic could have confirmed it? Could have said _time of death... _

Like Lynsey.

Only he wouldn't have had Steven there to drag him away and hold him back, to ground him and stop him falling into the black, screaming abyss.

He needs a minute to calm down, needs time for the word _alive _to sink into his half-soft brain and take root so he can believe it. He can't cope with anymore shocks, doesn't he think his heart can handle it. He's sick of feeling wild like a ribbon caught in the wind, twisted and blown about, passed here and there, catching on clawing branches and chipped concrete, sharp edges and razor angles. Everything hurts. He doesn't know how to make it stop.

He gets up, leans over the sink and splashes cold water across his face and neck, dries himself on a towel and dares a glance in the mirror. There's nothing remotely healthy about what he sees staring back at him. He's about to go and comfort Lysney's family looking like it's him that belongs in a coffin.

Back in the kitchen, Steven's hunched over the breakfast counter, head pillowed on his folded arms, and for a second Brendan's thinks he's asleep and doesn't know what to do. He's not a five year old; Brendan can't pick him up like a princess and carry him off to bed. Or, maybe -

"I'm awake," he says roughly and Brendan jumps.

"Thank God. Was deciding how I was gonna move you."

Brendan gets back to breakfast, toast cold in the toaster so he replaces it with two new slices. He hands Steven a steaming mug and he hasn't asked Brendan what's wrong. Brendan's grateful and kind of in awe. They exist in perfect understanding of each other, some weird symbiosis. Words go unspoken but that doesn't mean they aren't there, it doesn't mean they don't _know. _They share this burden of suffering and it's just another anchor between them, another axon of connection amongst a million other tangled, sparking neurons.

Steven bites into his honey-covered toast, make a small noise of appreciation that shoots right into Brendan's stomach and blooms. It's not sexual. It's deeper than that. Its giving Steven a moment of happiness and it hits him low and addictive.

"What time we heading up?" Steven asks and cuts through it.

"I'm gonna go pick up the car at nine and then we can get straight off."

"What's Belfast like?"

Brendan coughs a dry laugh. "It's okay. Me and Eileen lived there a lot of years. Declan was a boy there. I got good memories."

"Why'd you move back to Dublin?"

"You want the quick answer or the depressing one?" he asks and leans against the counter.

"Honestly?" Brendan nods. "The depressing one. But whichever you fancy's alright."

He doesn't really know how to start so he doesn't start anywhere, just talks and hopes it goes somewhere.

"We were supposed to be this perfect family, me and Chez and her ma' and Seamus. People _thought_ we were. My dad used to tip his hat to the neighbours when he went out. He held doors open for the women. He bought you a pint down the local," Brendan tells him softly, finds himself fading into the haze of his murky memories. "He treated Cheryl like a princess, she was our daddy's little girl. He bought Cheryl's ma flowers and told them they were the prettiest girls in all of Ireland - then he'd get me on my own and smirk and tell me the same thing."

Steven visibly shudders, breath stuttering out like he's frozen cold. He reaches out slowly, cautiously, and cups his palm around Brendan's forearm and Brendan lets the warmth soak into him. He remembers before, when he would have shaken Steven off, _take it off or I will break your arm_, and he tries to push the thoughts back and away. Once that crack appears stuff just drips through unchecked, bad memory after bad memory from deepest recesses of his treacherous brain.

"People put us on this pedestal. When I acted up - when I was moody or angry - I was just awkward. I was a _problem child_. Nobody wanted to know _why. _They looked at our family and didn't think they needed to ask."

_"Dad - "_

_" - what is it now, boy?"_

_"Mr Brady, thank you for coming."_

_"What has he done now, eh?"_

_"There's been an incident with another teacher, Mr Deegan. Hasn't there, Brendan?"_

_He says nothing. Stares at the floor. Just like always._

_"Brendan hit a teacher, Mr Brady."_

_"That right, boy?"_

_He nods. _

_"From what I can tell, Mr Deegan couldn't get his attention and put a hand on Brendan's shoulder and he just - snapped. Is that what happened, Brendan?"_

_"I didn't want him to touch - "_

_"This isn't the first time Brendan's lost his temper, Mr Brady. As well you know."_

_"I didn't want him to touch me - " _

_"I know, he's a handful is our Brendan. Always has been."_

_"I didn't want - " Brendan's voice is just a whisper. Nobody in this room can hear him. Nobody in this room is listening._

"Brendan!"

He hears his name through fog and in a tone that tells him Steven's being saying it a while. There's a hand clenched tight around his own and he squeezes back desperately, rubs his thumb over the rough, bitten and picked skin of Steven's fingers and thumbs.

"Come back, wherever it is you just went - _come back_. Look at me."

He does. He's helpless to Steven's command.

"It doesn't exist, not anymore. It's the past and the past can't hurt you," Steven says, rough and urgent. "People can hear you now, Brendan. _I _can hear you. You're not alone and you never will be, again."

"Really?" he breathes and instantly wants to take it back. It's too pathetic, too small.

"No matter what happens or - doesn't happen I will never turn my back on you." Steven's so sure of himself, so _wants _Brendan to believe him, so much that Brendan can feel his words being pushed through the air like a physical force.

Brendan sees himself in Steven's future, can see how it will play out. They'll live their lives right alongside each other and there'll be others, Steven might even fall in love again one day, but Brendan will always be put above the rest and it's not vanity that leads him to that revelation, just cold, hard fact. He'll destroy every one of Steven's relationships with his presence. The weight of the realisation is both punishing and dangerously powerful.

He reaches out blindly, hands closing around Steven's forearms. It's so close. So close to _something. _So irresistible. So inevitable.

He thinks that he's going to lean forwards and he does. He thinks that he's going to cement everything into one, solid whole and he wants to. He thinks he's going to kiss Steven and he almost does.

"Daddy?"

They both jump apart and Brendan shakes himself, could fucking _hurt _himself right now. Lucas stands in the hallway arch and Steven goes straight to him, swings him up into his arms.

"Hiya, what's up baby?" he asks softly and Lucas just yawns and stretches. "I'm never there when he wakes up," he says sheepishly to Brendan. "I'm always in 'ere, aren't I?"

"Yeah," Brendan breathes, half an exhausted laugh. "I'm gonna go get Cheryl and Amy up. We best be gettin' everything ready."

He hops down and passes by Steven and his son and just hopes that he has the strength to get through today without doing something incredibly stupid.

* * *

Brendan heads out to collect the hire car, six-seater Honda, feels weird when he drives it but there's six of them so he can't be too choosy.

He swings by and they load up, bags and kids and Brendan had swung by the a few places on his way back and gotten a packet of Dramamine and a box of dry crackers for Leah. Steven had said _you remembered? _and Brendan had shrugged off his look of pure affection and mumbled something like _just thought - might be useful - obviously you don't have to - she's your girl - _and trailed off awkwardly.

Steven looks a little flushed and nauseous by the time they've finished and Brendan corrals him into the front seat. It's partly selfish, he likes having Steven near and where he can see and talk to him, and partly because there's no way he's giving Steven Dramamine, or _any_ drugs in fact, and Brendan doesn't want to be stopping every ten minutes for him to get fresh air so he doesn't vomit or pass out.

They drive and Cheryl chatters loudly and Brendan gazes at the country and mountains, the landscape of his home, dull-green and weak sunlight and grey clouds but still - so beautiful, not unlike the boy sat in his passenger seat. He shows Steven Lugnaquilla, highest mountain in the Wicklow range, tells him about the weekend he was visiting old friends and he and Jason Dunn had set out with the real intention of conquering it and instead gotten pissed a quarter of the way up and rolled pretty much the whole way back down.

Steven laughs and Brendan soaks it up, sits and thinks up more stories to regail him with just to bring that brightness out of him, wants to distract him from how he's picking at the skin of his thumbs again, raw and with blood underneath his nails and it's a small pain but Brendan still wants him to stop. He tells Steven about the time he got arrested showing off in front of his mates, jumping off the pier at Dun Laoghaire Harbour and nearly breaking both his legs _and _drowning all at the same time. He doesn't tell Steven what his da did to him when he had to come bail him out. Doesn't tell him about the belt and welts and days of no sleep.

They cross the border into Northern Ireland and stop at a cafe for lunch and Brendan heads outside to stretch his legs. He hates being cooped up for long periods, needs air and space to breathe and calm his twitching nerves.

He hears her footsteps before she speaks, could sense her presence even if he was blind. "Y'okay, love?"

_Love. _She hasn't called him that in ages. It makes him want to do something in return, give her something back.

"Bit knackered," he says and he presses his back into the white concrete wall of the quaint, little café building.

She comes and leans up next to him. There's hardly a thing out here, just sparse forest and farmland and stretching road for miles and miles.

"You look it. Ste, too."

"Yeah, well. He's been through a lot."

"We all have, Bren. You included." He looks at her and doesn't say a thing. Cheryl can make or break him with words and words are what he needs from her right now. "Whatever happened in that place - you're a mess. I've never seen you like this. I'm worried about you."

"Y'are?"

"Course I am. I'm your wee sister, never stop worrying about you. Even - even before, with - y'know - " She still can't talk about it. " - but I think it's okay. I think so. Everything you've done for us to keep us safe - you're not a monster, Bren. I never should have said that."

"Thanks, Chez," he says with a breathy laugh. "I needed that. Steven says it, says all these things - I can't believe him, y'know?"

"Why not?"

"'Cause he - "

"Because he loves you?"

"Yeah." Fucking gives him life, flows and scorches through him, to be able to admit that. Cheryl saying it, him admitting it. It's searing light and hot, burning gas like the sun.

"He's not stupid, Brendan. He doesn't love you blindly."

"I'm not sayin' he's stupid, he's not. He's too forgiving. Always had been when it comes to me. Loves me _too_ much."

"Too much?"

"Scares me," he admits softly and can't really believe he just said that. He's missed her_ so_ much. "Just this - massive thing. Takes up everything. I don't know how to - what to do with it."

She considers him. "You just love him back, that's all you do."

"I do. It's the same. It's too big. He's just - Steven has _everything. _There's nothin' left of me, Chez," and he can't believe how broken and exhausted his voice sounds when those words scrape out of him. "You need two whole people to make a relationship. We ain't even close."

"You don't think you can fix each other?"

"Doesn't work like that. Steven couldn't fix me before and Lord knows he tried. I'll break him all over again, I know I will. There's not that much left of him as it is. He needs to heal and - and I'm a murderer, Cheryl."

She shivers, touches his shoulder with a shaking hand, says his name firmly, sounds just like her irate ma, "Brendan. You're not that man anymore."

_People don't change, son. Once a waste of space, always a waste of space._

_Just another victim of Brendan Brady._

"People don't change."

"Ste did."

Brendan smiles, it breaks over his face, cracks him apart like pressurised light trying to bleed out through a million tiny gaps. "Steven ain't just people."

"Bren - "

"Remember that time I pretended to fall off McArt's Fort?" he says over her.

She huffs, rolls her eyes. "Brendan, look - "

"You screamed so loud - think you were crying at one point, weren't you?"

"I was mourning," she says eventually, can't resist defending her honour. "I thought you'd gone and gotten yourself killed y'idiot."

"Lynsey was all calm, trying to get you to shut up. She was tryin' to find my pulse but what was she - like thirteen? Didn't have a clue." Cheryl laughs, goes soft and fond. "I'd like to think I'm part of the reason she became a nurse, actually."

"She did love to pretend to operate on you."

"Remember when she stuck that straw up my nose?"

Cheryl explodes into a fit of snorting laughter and damp, bright eyes. "Oh, that was hilarious. You had the sniffles for about a week, you were in such a mood."

"She bought me Jelly Babies to say sorry," he remembers sweetly. "Out of her own spending money and everything."

"She loved you."

"She loved you, too." He reaches out to her and pulls her close into his arms and she comes effortlessly.

"Life's too short not to give love a chance, Bren."

He pauses and pulls away to look at her. "Really? _Really? _You sound like a bloody greeting card, Chez. What the hell was that?"

"What?" she squeaks, affronted.

"_Life's too short not to give love a chance?_ What are you, Hallmark?"

"I thought it was sweet!"

"Jesus Christ, woman - " He'd go on but Cheryl's smacking him round the head and digging her fingers into his hair painfully.

"Cold, heartless bastard - "

"Dear Deirdre you ain't, sis," he chokes out through her assault and he can tell she's trying not to laugh.

He's in Belfast and his sister's hands are giving him bruises and he feels about ten again, pulling her hair and trying to run away before she grabs him. Calling her names and only _just _managing not to stick his tongue out like he is _actually_ a child because he's that giddy with her, that drunk on her affection like he's binging on it after a dry-spell. She claws at his shoulders and jumps up onto his back, legs crushing around his hips so he has to hold her up or fall right over.

"Giddy up."

"To where, exactly?" he deadpans.

"Umm - car?"

"The car that's twenty feet away?"

"Yup."

It's a small ask in the grand scheme of things. Even if he is exhausted and aching and tender all over, he can do it just this once, if it makes her happy. He hoists her up and starts to trudge across the gravel car park, her ridiculous, Hallmark clichés punching through his every step.

* * *

He pulls them up at the hotel they're staying in, the one Lysney's parents have chosen to hold tonight's wake at. It's out of the town center, a multi-part building spread out across a huge acre of sprawling land. Victorian-era architecture, solid pillars and arches and intricately carved stone around tall, lead-patterned windows.

They unload and he checks them in, rooms spread out along the same hall, Steven sandwiched between him and Amy, unspoken but Amy gives him a tiny nod of appreciation.

Inside the room he lies down, wants to get a couple of hours sleep before he has to face Lynsey's family, one member in particular, but all that really happens is the _lying down _part_. _

He yawns. He itches at his arm. He lays on his side and front and rolls over onto his back, shuts his eyes, gazes about.

The room is nice, beige and brown wallpaper, forest green bed covers on the big double, set of chairs to his right, balcony overlooking the terrace and gardens below. There's four stains on the ceiling above his head, look like four circular scorch marks like someone's held a lighter to those spots of plaster and tried to set a fire. Pissed off guests, maybe? Partying rock stars? Kids getting into daddy's luggage and finding the flicky fire-making thing.

Time passes and he could tear his hair out with all the things he's resolutely _not _thinking about.

_He's not stupid. He doesn't love you blindly - _

_You just love him back -_

_All he does is destroy and all of you forgive him over and over because you're so blinded by him_ -

His brain is like a fucking radio with no off button. Keeping his mind blank these days is like trying to shovel snow in the middle of a blizzard. He's almost relieved when there's a knock at the door.

He thinks it's probably Cheryl. It's not.

"Hiya, can I come in?"

He thinks it's kind of weird that Steven's asking so politely instead of barging straight in. He wonders if it's part of that _space _thing they talk about but can't seem to get round to actually trying out.

"Yeah, what's up?"

Steven walks in, perches himself on the edge of the bed. "Just wondered if you were alright, that's all."

He wants to smile, instantly lighter, instantly at ease. Just them, genuinely alone, in the comfort and safety of this room. He didn't know that _this _is exactly what he needed until right now. "Bit emotional, I guess."

Steven pats the mattress next to him with a small, cheesy grin. "Step into my office."

Brendan chuckles and thinks _don't_, but he goes around to the side of the bed and throws himself down regardless, sprawls comfortably against the plush pillows, hands folded behind his head. Steven shuffles up beside him, lays on his side, weight supported against one elbow.

"Just worried about seeing Lynsey's family."

"Why?"

"If I was them, I'd blame me."

"Like you should 'ave protected her?" Steven asks and he _gets _it and Brendan could kiss him.

"Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised if they did."

"No offence Brendan but you're not exactly normal; not a lot of people think like you do," Steven says plainly, just blurts it out and Brendan scoffs an offended laugh.

"Well, you clearly do."

"Yeah but I'm not normal either."

"You really ain't," he says fondly and Steven blushes, looks away and fiddles with his bottom lip in a way Brendan finds absolutely endearing. "I know one person who will, though. The man hates my guts."

"Who's that?"

"Eoghan. Lynsey's brother."

"What did you do to him?"

"I - wait - " he sputters. "You instantly jump to the conclusion that_ I_ did something to _him_?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Steven's face is a picture of blatant cognizance_._

"We had a thing," Brendan says quietly.

Steven rolls his eyes. "Right. A _thing?_"

"I might have slept with him."

"Might 'ave? You didn't notice for sure? Can't 'ave been that good, then," he says with an ever-so-slightly haughty little curl to his top lip and Brendan laughs out loud, wants to go on laughing and just exist with Steven in this loose moment of humour and warmth pretty much for the rest of his life.

There's no darkness here and Steven's perfectly relaxed and he wonders - dangerous thoughts, terrifying, so-close what-ifs, a hair's breadth within reach, Cheryl's words ringing in his ears like something hopeful and toxic.

"It wasn't," he says with a wink that gets Steven's smiling. "I was, typically and inevitably, a bastard. So now he can't stand me."

"Oops. Probably shouldn't 'ave gone there with your best mate's brother. Or - your surrogate sister's brother - errr."

"Shut up," Brendan scoffs and kicks at him with his knee.

Steven shoves him back and sprawls across the bed on his front, folds his arms to rest his chin against.

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"Lot of years ago. He's a grudgy type, though. Could never let anything go. I mean, granted - I did nearly break his hand."

"Oh, is that all? Wonder why he an't gotten over that, yet," Steven drawls, lazy sarcasm.

It's so powerful how he doesn't recoil, doesn't leave and get as far away from Brendan as humanly possible. It's intense and dizzying that Brendan _knows _he can just say stuff like that and not have to worry for one second about Steven running.

"I probably owe him an apology," Brendan says dryly. "He is a twat, though."

"Brendan!" Steven scoffs through a choking laugh. "You can't say things like that about Lysney's brother just before her wake."

"He is, though! Lysney thought so, too. She was just too nice to say it."

"Doesn't mean you get to break his hand."

"_Almost. _I almost broke his hand," Brendan corrects and Steven raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, okay. I know. Thanks Jiminy Cricket."

"_A conscience is that still, small voice that people won't listen to. That's just the trouble with the world today - _" Steven quotes at him, does the voice and everything.

"_Are you my conscience?_" Brendan asks, high and in a silly accent.

"_Who me?_"

"Okay, that's just sad."

"Leah went through about three months where we had to 'ave that film on _every day_."

"Yeah? Padraig went through the same phase. I hated it, he couldn't have been obsessed with The Lion King or something. I mean _that's _a Disney film."

"Lucas' favourite. Good choice," Steven nods approvingly. "Aladdin was mine as a kid."

"That why you enjoy stealing shit so much?"

"Oi!" Steven shoves him again, this time with his elbow right in his side. "I'll 'ave you know I don't do stuff like that anymore. Last thing I stole was - " He stops, scoffs a bit and buries his head into his arms to suffocate his laughter. Brendan has to poke him and ask _what _before he'll come up for air, face flushed pink. "Last thing I stole was eighty grand off you."

Brendan gawps at him and then suddenly he's laughing so hard he can't breathe. He curls up on his side, right against Steven's body, and just lets it wash over him. Everything, them, their past, the things they've done to each other. The weight of it lessens, becomes insubstantial and less smothering. Brendan can't operate under the assumption that Steven doesn't know him. He can't go on treating Steven like a fragile victim when he can reduce Brendan to a wreck with a kiss and a con.

They lean against each other, giddy with hysterics, and Steven chokes out a really insincere sounding _sorry about that by the way _and Brendan gives him the finger and muses, "I should call the police you fraudulent little bastard."

"You wouldn't dare; you're practically a serial killer."

"You got no proof."

"Nah, all in here," he says and taps his temple. "Suppose that's where it'll 'ave to stay."

"You don't think justice should be served and all that crap?"

Steven considers him meaningfully. "I think it already has been."

Brendan chuffs a breath through his nose. "Yeah?"

"Yeah but like I said, you and me aren't exactly normal. I wouldn't put too much into my opinion if I were you."

"Yours is one of the only ones that matters to me, Steven," he says softly and Steven raises an eyebrow, quirks his lip at the corner.

"Yeah, well - same."

"Okay then, will you do somethin' for me?"

"What?"

Brendan reaches across the small gap between them and takes Steven's scabbed thumb in his hand. "Stop pickin' at yourself. It's making me feel ill."

"I don't even realise I'm doin' it." Steven frowns and Brendan runs the pad of his thumb over the raised, scratchy skin.

"That mean I gotta keep an even closer eye on you?"

"That even possible?"

Brendan breathes a laugh and rolls back onto his back, spreads one arm out across the pillows over Steven's folded arms, light and brushing touch. He feels lazy and content and _used _but in a good way, like he's wrung dry of tension after a good run.

Steven smiles and blinks slowly, sleepy and peaceful. Brendan watches him and lets the silence fall like light snow, fresh and melting and shimmering perfect. He feels his own eyelids get heavy and pull against him, feels himself sink like hot lead into the mattress. The warmth from Steven's body soaks against his side and he's a real, solid presence; Brendan can see and smell and touch him, can hear his deep and rhythmic breathing even out and watch the blue of his eyes disappear behind fluttering lashes.

It's all he needs, all he's needed for days, simple as anything.

He drifts, slow and pleasant. There's no anxiety, no jerking awake when he starts to go under. It's easy. Dreamless.

* * *

He wakes to a hand against his neck and a soft voice.

He doesn't jolt, he's not concerned or afraid. His body remembers going to sleep in warmth and safety and he knows there's no reason to panic.

"Bren - " Steven's voice, creeping through his fuzzy edges. Steven's hand, touching him delicately.

He opens his eyes.

Steven's sat cross-legged next to him, half leaning across his body with his knees pressed against Brendan's arm, so close and _so_ focused. Brendan raises a lazy hand to take Steven's scarred wrist and pull it around and to his lips. He kisses across the sore, puckered skin, feels it rough against his mouth, and watches Steven's throat dip and wants to kiss that as well. It's easy to want so much in that safe, fuzzy place between waking and sleep, when the rest of the world is locked out on the other side of his hotel room door.

Steven spreads his fingers across Brendan's cheek, strokes his thumb so slowly under his eye. Brendan catches his gaze and can't look away and he touches the back of Steven's hand, strokes trailing fingers across his skin and presses lips against his pulse. Air and time and space stretches and contracts between them, defies physics the way the very atmosphere changes to fit around them, moulds itself to accommodate their density. How can he fight this? How can he fight gravity itself? He's not so sure he wants to keep trying, anymore.

"What time is it?" he asks roughly and Steven takes his hand back slowly.

"Nearly five."

"You sleep all that time?"

"Just woke up."

"Miracles do happen."

Steven snuffs a laugh and swallows. "I should go 'ave a shower an' that. Get ready."

"Yeah, me too." He levers up onto his elbows and watches Steven shuffle off the bed reluctantly.

He gives Brendan one last look, a frown, mouth parted like he might want to say something. Brendan wants him to, wants Steven to push him, demand the things he wants, _make _this happen so that Brendan can give in. He wants Steven to crawl back into his arms, to hold him close and kiss him and make his toes curl. _Jesus, _he wants everything. So powerful the way it pulls at him, yearns _in _him, in his blood and bones and muscles.

Steven doesn't say a word, though. Brendan had asked him not to and Steven's sticking to it, doing it _for _him, holding up the weight of all that pressure on his own shoulders because Brendan had begged him to be strong. He walks out with a small wave and Brendan sits for long, stretching minutes feeling cold and bereft and weirdly proud before he can gather his wits about him enough to realise that at least he feels a fuck-load better after getting some real sleep.

He showers and dresses, suit jacket and trousers, black for mourning; that's why they're here, to mourn.

Cheryl comes to get him and she has Leah in her arms, all gussied up in her navy dress. Brendan tells her she looks very distinguished and she asks him, _what does dust-english mean? _and he laughs and touches her hair and says, _means you look smart _and she smiles, pleased as punch.

"I don't know what Ste's doin'. I knocked five minutes ago and he wasn't ready," Amy frets with her hands fidgeting at her skirt.

He thinks it's typically, perfectly maternal for her to get so stressed about her family being disorganised and yet be so solid and grounded in a genuine crisis. The more time he spends with her the more he learns her little quirks, the more he appreciates her.

"I'm bloody coming, chill out!" Steven's irate voice muffles through the door and the he appears in a whirlwind. Brendan looks him over him, doesn't often get to see Steven like this, white shirt, black suit. "Right, okay. Let's go."

Amy shakes her head at him and he pulls Lucas up into his arms and Cheryl leads them down the stairs into the lobby like a procession.

He spots Lynsey's parents straight away, greeting people in the doorway, hugs and kisses and platitudes, and Cheryl puts Leah down to take Brendan's hand. She looks at him, takes a deep breath, and he feels the pressure of their combined grief weigh in across him, almost tangible and suffocating.

"Cheryl, Brendan - " Susan takes them both in her arms, kisses Brendan on the cheek in the same way she has a million times.

"This is Ste and Amy, they're friends of ours, friends of Lynsey's. These are their wee ones, Leah and Lucas," Cheryl introduces and she shakes Steven's hand, gives Amy a warm hug, a smile for the kids, a thank you for coming. "How're you holding up?"

Steven touches Brendan, palm against his lower back and it and it startles him. He leans close and murmurs, "we're gonna go get sat down, leave you to talk."

Brendan nods, catches his hand as it slips away and gives it a squeeze. Steven smiles at him, mouths _you're doing good_ and Brendan watches them take the six steps up to the function room until they're at the top and his gaze catches and reels on Eoghan. Eoghan looking for all the world like a different man but Brendan would recognise that familiar heat in his eyes from a mile away.

"Aren't we, Bren?" He snaps back to Cheryl. "We're here if Susan needs anything doing tomorrow before the funeral?"

"Yeah, course we are. Anything you need," he tells her genuinely and she smiles, thanks them.

They talk about Lynsey and the quiet tremble of her voice sounds like screaming to him. It becomes unbearable and he has to excuse himself, faint and shaking. They don't look at him like he's a monster. They don't look at him like he failed them. It doesn't matter, though. That's how he feels.

The function room is busy and it's a warm evening; floor to ceiling length windows span half the length of the back wall and they open out into the terrace to let in a breeze. He sweeps the room and spots them, Amy and Steven and the kids. And Eoghan.

As he approaches the table, Steven catches his eye, says, "Brendan," and Eoghan turns over his shoulder and looks him up and down in a way that makes his skin itch and burn.

"Eoghan," he says flatly.

"Brendan." Eoghan smiles, pushes out a chair beside him. "Why don't you join us?"

Like he couldn't fucking join them without Eoghan's permission, jumped up little shit. He keeps the sneer off his face when he replies, "how presumptuous of you, thank you."

"Eoghan was just tellin' us about New York," Steven says like he's trying to shift the awkwardness like it's a ten ton block of cement.

"Great place. I was gonna take Lysney there for Christmas," Eoghan tells them and he's holding up well, Brendan has to give him that. He doesn't begrudge Eoghan his grief. He can almost feel it pouring off him in waves and they share that at least.

"Yeah, she said," Brendan breathes, tries to give him something, anything but the hostility that he's clearly after. He gets it. That need to shout or fight or make a scene. "She was lookin' forward to it."

"Well I'm so glad you were there to hear that, Brendan."

"Eoghan - "

"Think I'm gonna go to the bar, care to join me?"

Steven looks at him and Brendan soaks it in briefly, gives him a small nod that he doesn't doubt Eoghan notices. He gets up, takes off his jacket and hangs it on the back of the chair, hot all over, prickling with sweat. Eoghan notices that, too. Not one damn thing has changed between them in a whole decade.

"What's your boy-toy drinking, then?"

"Don't call him that." Brendan leans against the shiny, wood surface, picks compulsively at a chip at the bar's curved edge.

"I was half-joking but _my God_, this mean you're out now?"

"We're not - me and Steven, we're not - "

"Ah, there's that denial. I thought that was too good to be true," Eoghan drawls, smug and fucking satisfied with himself.

"You don't know a damn thing, Eoghan."

"I know sexual tension when I see it."

"I swear to God - we can't be civil? Can't bring a bit of peace to Lysney's memory? _What_ is your problem?" he asks, low and furious, can feel his temper fraying around the edges, tearing and ripping and desperate.

"The fact that you even have to ask me that - "

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for using you, I'm sorry for making you feel like crap, I'm sorry for nearly breaking your hand, okay? I'm _sorry._" It comes out in a rough rush of breath and he feels like he's losing it.

Eoghan scoffs. "Not good enough, Brendan."

"Whatever it is you want from me, Eoghan - I can't give you it."

"Nothing at all. I'm just curious to see how many other lives you've - _affected _- since I last had the pleasure of your company. That's some nasty bruising on young Steven's neck, isn't it?"

Brendan feels himself slip, feels the bright burn of anger lance through him and he hits his fist into the bar so hard he feels the rattle of it all up his arm.

"There he is, there's the Brendan Brady I know."

He rounds on Eoghan, out of control. "You wanna be next?"

"What did he do? Dare to fall in love with you - " and then that's it.

Brendan shoves him back, desperately strains against clenching his fist, doesn't do that, not _anymore, _but he needs to get Eoghan away from him, needs to get space from his accusations.

"What's goin' on!?"

Cheryl.

Brendan breathes, hard. Eoghan stares him down, absolute, glinting joy in his eyes.

"Brendan, get a grip," Cheryl whispers furiously in his ear and he pulls out of her grasping hands roughly but she grabs at him again. "Brendan - "

"Cheryl, let him go." Steven's soft voice, somewhere close by, and Brendan can't look around for him, can't see past the ringing in his head.

She does and his chest heaves. "You need to calm yourself down."

He backs away, clears a path through huddled, gawping people out of the function room and through the lobby and into the darkening evening. He collapses onto the low wall in the car park, buries his face in his hands. Shame curls up through him like tendrils of poisonous smoke, hot and nasty. Bile rises through his throat and he gulps it down, breathes through the burn. There's needles under his skin trying to hack their way out, trying to make him tear and bleed.

This bubbling, boiling hot steam comes from somewhere inside him, escapes like a geyser because there's nowhere for it to go. It burns up in a flash and leaves him feeling sickly and empty and half-dead. He tries to fill the space it hollows out but hardly anything fits. One thing. One out of the hundreds of people and substances and emotions and masks he's used to try and suppress that yearning need, that desperate crying out for comfort like a child separated from its mother.

One thing. One man.

Lynsey used to say you only get one real connection in your life, one real soulmate. Don't waste it. He'd scoffed and called her a soppy sod but now he's here at her wake and he thinks about how she never got hers. Months ago, Lynsey had died never knowing that connection.

A week ago, Steven had nearly died, too.

He feels energy seep back into him, fresh, country air restorative and calming. He stands and brushes himself down, runs a hand through his hair, and makes his was back inside and finds Cheryl with Amy, slumped with a giant half-full glass of wine on the table next to her and that's never a good thing.

"Hey."

She raises her glass to him sarcastically. "Here to make some more scenes?"

"I'm sorry, Chez. I wasn't gonna hit him, I swear." He pushes every bit of honesty into the statement and she softens. "Where is he? I need to talk to him - just talk, that's all."

"Outside. I told him he needed to cool off as well." She rolls her eyes sardonically and he appreciates her not assuming the worst, not laying all the blame on him like she might have done a few weeks ago.

It's another small thing. Another tiny weight loosened.

The terrace is a long stretch of wide path along the outside wall of the function room, surrounded on three sides by intricate, wrough-iron fences and tall autumn-turning hedges filled with a million twinkling fairy lights like tiny, glowing fireflies.

He edges out, looks around and spots Eoghan. He's stood with his back leant against the fence some hundred yards away. There's a figure at his side, leant with his hip so Brendan can't see his face but he realises with a shock that it's Steven.

"Brendan offered and me and Amy hadn't taken the kids anywhere in ages, so - "

He ducks back into the shadows at the mention of his name. Eavesdropping is beneath him but Eoghan minces words and he wants to hear what he's got to say out of Brendan's earshot.

"That was _generous_ of him," he says and Brendan can hear the implication dripping like mud. "Beautiful family you've got, by the way. Your Amy's a pretty girl."

"Oh, me and Amy aren't together."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just thought - "

"People think it all the time but we 'ad the kids when we were really young - I'm actually gay. Wouldn't really work out, y'know?"

Eoghan laughs. "No I suppose it wouldn't. So - " Brendan holds his breath. "How on Earth did you end up friends with someone like Brendan? I can't even imagine how you two would have met."

"I used to work for him and Cheryl at the club," Steven tells him casually. "Once you get in with the Bradys there's no gettin' out."

"You're right there," Eoghan agrees, clinks his glass against the bottle in Steven's hand. "Brendan doesn't exactly take _many _people to heart."

"No - well - " and there it is, the hesitation Eoghan was waiting for and he jumps on it like a cat on a cornered mouse.

"Don't tell me you've been there, as well?" The hypocrisy and blatant leading irks him. Steven's silent and still and Brendan wishes he could see his face, see if he's falling for it. "Does this mean he's out?"

"Pretty much, yeah. I don't know what you're goin' on about, though. Does Cheryl know you've shagged her brother?"

Eoghan coughs and sputters around his drink, thrown off guard into half-offended laughter by Steven's bluntness. "Does she buggery. I'm Brendan Brady's dirty little secret."

"Wow. Dramatic," Steven drawls, completely deadpan. "Well - he doesn't 'ave many secrets anymore."

"Never thought I'd see the day. So you two aren't still together?"

"Not anymore, no."

"How come? If you don't mind me askin'."

"It's complicated." He's getting pissed off and he's not even trying to hide it.

"It usually is with him. Let me give you some advice, Ste," Eoghan says, sage and filled with worldly fucking wisdom. "Brendan Brady's bad news. If I were you I'd get as far away from him as possible."

There's a lengthy silence and Brendan can feel the pressure building like something's about to erupt.

"Do you even know how many times people have said that to me?" Steven snaps, suddenly whirls off the railings into the middle of the terrace, arms thrown out to his sides. "I hear it all the bloody time. _Everyone _has _something _to say about Brendan, everyone thinks they've got him all sussed out. Stay away from him, he's evil, he's a thug, he's dangerous - "

"Ste, he _is - _"

"You know what, Eoghan? I know. I _know _he's dangerous and I know _exactly _what he's capable of. There's no person on this planet that knows Brendan like I do, not even his own sister, probably not even _himself_, and you know what?" he asks furiously and doesn't wait for an answer before he barrages on, taking Brendan's breath away with every word that comes tumbling out his mouth. "I love him anyway."

Eoghan goes completely silent and Brendan reels back against the brick, feels like he's been punched right in the gut, light-headed from no air and almost doubled over. Knowing it is one thing. Hearing Steven say it, hearing him take Eoghan's assumptions apart with his words and then reinforce everything Brendan feels the most insecure about - it's too much.

"So don't you dare assume that _you_ can give _me _advice about Brendan Brady," he delivers the final blow cold like sharp ice and Brendan moves.

He half-stumbles into the light spilling from the function room. Eoghan's mouth goes slack over Steven's shoulder and he turns, eyes wide and fixed on Brendan and he can't fucking breath with what he's about to do, heart pounding against his ribs like it's trying to claw its way out and get to Steven all on its own.

"Eoghan," he grinds out hoarsely. "Piss off."

He narrows his eyes and passes by Brendan, gives him one last look of utter contempt that doesn't even touch him, not even a scratch.

Brendan steps forward, each click of his shoes against the pavement like a gong in the still silence. Steven watches him come closer, frozen like a deer caught in headlights, desperate and pleading with all his body and Brendan can't look away from him.

He raises his hands, they're shaking so badly, can hardly coordinate them, and he doesn't even know where to touch, wants to touch everywhere. He curls his fingers against Steven's hips, strokes his palms up under his jacket, feels the warm skin through the thin material of his shirt. There's inches between them and he's too scared to close it, too caught in this moment of looking and seeing and feeling, too caught in the velvet night and the burnished hedges and the soft glowing lights and the dark smudges of shadow casting over Steven's awestruck face like brushed charcoal.

"Brendan, what - "

"I got another question for you."

Steven blinks, frowns, doesn't make a move to touch Brendan back, breathes the word, "okay," like he's too afraid to speak.

Brendan licks his lips, throat dry. "Will you be with me, Steven?

"Brendan, please tell me this is for real - _please - _" he begs on a desperate whisper and Brendan hushes him.

"It is. I promise, it is. I love you, Steven," he says and lets the full force of it hit into both of them like a falling comet. "I love you and I can't live my life without you. Don't even wanna try, anymore."

Steven inhales like a man drowning, like he's fought and _fought_ and finally broken the water's surface. He sways, leans into Brendan's space. "I love you, too."

Everything narrows down to this moment and he feels like he's been building up to it his whole life, like everything he's ever suffered and done and said has been preparing him for this. It's taken everything to get them here and it means _everything _because of it. He's caught in the weight of how much he loves, how it's so thick he can touch it, how all-consuming and huge it is. There was never any running from this, just time and careful evolution, learning and growing, the laying of a solid enough foundation to hold two crumbling souls.

He surges forward, sweeps Steven up into his arms and they move at the same time like perfectly matched clockwork pieces, Steven's arms sliding around his shoulders, hand cupping the back of Brendan's neck. He holds Steven shielded and protected and secure, will never let anyone take him away, never let anyone hurt him ever again, keep every promise and secret and precious memory.

They breathe together in the warm radiance and sweet smell of the garden and Brendan watches the lights dance like fireflies in Steven's blue eyes before he dips his head, catches Steven's lips under his own, and kisses him through the still and perfect silence.


	15. and i could see for miles, miles, miles

Notes (**do read, please**): This chapter is basically my love letter to everyone who's reading this story. I had a toss up - either throw the boys straight back into the action or have an interlude where they're allowed to be deliriously happy together for a bit. I chose the latter. It's a chapter where pretty much nothing happens and I really hope you enjoy it, this is my thank you to you guys.

Title and lyrics from Bon Iver - Holocene.

Word Count ~ 7600

* * *

_saying nothing,_

_that's enough for me_

_and at once i knew _

_i was not magnificent_

To kiss Steven like this -

- to kiss him like he doesn't know how to stop, to kiss him like he never has to, like they have forever, lazy and wet and clinging lips and sliding tongues, soft and hard and calm and fierce, to suck Steven's bottom lip between his teeth, to lick inside him, to breathe his air and taste his sweetness and drink his warmth all the way down.

It's addictive and he can't pull away.

Steven holds his neck, touches his face and jaw, wraps his arms tight around his shoulders and gets up on his toes to get close and Brendan strokes his back, holds his waist, pulls him right up against his body so he's hardly touching the floor and then dips low until he's holding Steven's weight against his hands and bending him almost backwards.

He kisses Steven until the world vanishes and there's nothing else. He doesn't feel the floor under him or the air against his skin, every one of his senses saturated in just _this._

They part and stay close, Steven's lips still pressed against his own, Steven's breath mingling with Brendan's. He feels the tremble of Steven's body in his arms, feels his chest rise and fall against his ribs, feels his heart beating right through to his own like it's craving the touch of it. Brendan opens his eyes, feels his eyelashes wisp against Steven's skin, sees how he's still got his eyes squeezed tightly shut, mouth parted, eyebrows pulled into a frown.

Steven looks desperate and afraid. He's clinging to Brendan like he can't bear the thought that he might _look _and all this might be gone.

Brendan slides both his palms up to cup his face, creates inches of space between them like he has to fight for it.

"Look at me."

Steven bites his lip and scrunches up his face. "Can't."

"Why not?"

"Got shiny eye."

He feels a laugh bubble out of him, lets it hiccup through his lips. "You mean you're crying?"

"No," Steven says stubbornly. "Blokes don't cry, they get shiny eye."

Brendan watches in fascination as his eyes flutter open, so blue, and two tears swell up and roll down against his fingers. He brushes them up with his thumbs, can't take his gaze away from the lingering wetness.

"You're still 'ere," Steven says softly, smile shaky but bright.

"Damn right I am."

"You're not gonna 'ave another freak out?"

"Don't think so. Think I'm past it, now. If I do then just - I dunno - call me an idiot or somethin'."

"Okay, but - what will I call you the rest of the time?" Steven asks and Brendan digs his fingers against his sides and makes him squirm.

"Such a cheeky fucker," Brendan scoffs and shakes his head. "You can call me the King Of fuckin' England and sit on my damn sceptre."

"Well I'm gonna do that anyway at some point - I hope."

"Been a long time, Steven. You sure you can handle it?"

"Oh, I can handle it." His eyes fall half-mast, gets that alluring half-smile across his lips. "Never 'ad any problems handling you, Brendan."

He suddenly can't wait, spike of bright-hot fever bolting through him, prickling across his skin like he's under a halogen bulb. "Now. I wanna go upstairs right now."

Steven stops smiling, eyed dropping to Brendan's mouth, breath stuttering. "Yeah, me too."

He's about to take Steven's hand, about to lead them around the side of the garden and through the car park, enter the hotel from the front to avoid Amy and Cheryl and fucking Eoghan, although he wouldn't mind parading a half-hard, gagging-for-it Steven right past Eoghan's lost cause, but he doesn't get a chance to do any of that.

"Bren - what - noooo!" Steven's eyes widen over Brendan's shoulder and he sighs, can't believe they've had literally minutes of each other and she's _already _managed to find out. "You two? Are you two - "

He hears her heels clatter across the paving and tightens one arm around Steven's body before he turns to face her. "Cheryl, don't make a big - " and he doesn't get any further than that before she's all over them both, arms flung around their necks, squeezing them all together until Steven pretends to choke and she finally steps back.

"Look at you, oh my God - " She grins, waves her glass between them. "I thought you'd never get here."

Steven laughs and shakes his head and Brendan looks at him, doesn't care that Cheryl's there, can't take his eyes away. He's overwhelmed with the sudden need for people inside to see what he sees.

"Come on, let's go get a drink," he says and pats his hand to Steven's lower back, a little nudge.

Steven turns his head, says hushedly, barely moving his lip, "I thought we were - "

"There's time," Brendan tells him meaningfully and watches Steven bite his lip, close his eyes like he's just letting Brendan's words soak into him.

"I think champagne might be in order. A toast to Lynsey's memory," Cheryl announces and looks at them, gaze soft and sweet. "I don't think you could have given her anything more precious."

"Don't start with all that Hallmark crap again, Chez, please," Brendan drawls with a roll of his eyes but he does want a drink, he _does _want to toast Lynsey's memory.

Tonight he wants to celebrate life.

* * *

"I work in a deli - "

"Honey, don't be so modest. He _owns _the deli."

"Yeah, I own the a deli. Thank you, babe."

"You're welcome, sweetness."

"What would I do without you, eh, darling?"

"I just don't know, _doll face._"

Lysney's great auntie Joan looks between them like she's watching a tennis match. She's smiling politely, trying to look interested and engaged when she's clearly confused as hell. It shouldn't be as funny as it is, they're at Lynsey's wake for God's sake, but he can almost hear Lysney's bright laughter and right now Brendan's floating on some kind of nitrous oxide cloud of _daft _and _everything _is funny. Amy dragging Steven off with a half-mental smile for answers was funny, the way Cheryl had popped the champagne and splashed it all over Graham, Lynsey's-prick-of-an-ex-boyfriend was funny. The way Eoghan had glared daggers at him before haughtily turning his nose up like he couldn't give a shit had been fucking hilarious.

"I think we need another drink, don't you, precious?" Brendan asks him, stepford smile in place, and Steven nods, gives him one back.

"Absolutely, _kitten_," he replies and that does it, Brendan cracks.

He grips his fingers into the material of Steven's shirt at his back and drags him towards the bar and barks out the laughter he's been holding in for long, tortuous minutes.

Steven rounds on him, nearly trips and falls backwards he's paying that little attention to where he's going, and chokes out, "_doll face?"._

Brendan grips his arm and pulls him close in a little half-spin, thrills at the way Steven doesn't even try to stop himself from falling, knows Brendan's got him. "Kitten?"

Steven pokes a finger into his top lip, brushes it through his tash. "Furry. Like a kitten."

"You're ridiculous. A ridiculous human being."

"Whatever you say, kitten. Get me a drink."

"I think you've had enough."

"I think _you've _had enough."

Brendan orders two more glasses of champagne, presses their shoulders together where they lean on the bar. It's crazy how light he feels. He'd thought the weight of this might crush him and Steven to death, there's too much to handle, too many memories and too much pain, but it hasn't. He keeps waiting for someone to pop his bubble but even then he's not afraid, feels like even if they did things would just float gently down to Earth again and give them time to rebalance.

He turns into Steven's warm body, clinks their glasses together, and Steven grins at him, smile for him alone, all his now.

"Who's next?" Steven asks. What he means is who's next on the list of Lysney's friends and family does Brendan physically despise. Who else in this room has no right to be here.

"Her ex is a dick but I got my sights on Uncle Charlie. He used to tell her she had rugby player thighs and get on at her mum for lettin' her wear tracksuit bottoms, told her she was asking for a lesbian in the family," Brendan tells him dryly and Steven scrunches his face up.

"Errr. Shall I just snog your face off in front of him?"

Brendan laughs. "I like it. He's the mostly bald guy over by the sandwiches, burgundy suit."

"He deserves it just for the outfit."

"Right? Come on." Brendan puts a hand in the dip of his spine, warm skin through his shirt, jacket long gone. He's almost edible like this, tipsy and happy and rumpled, tie loosened and hanging around his neck more like a necklace and shirt sleeves rolled up. Suits aren't really Steven but _damn _if he doesn't look fucking gorgeous in them.

They walk over to the buffet table and Charlie turns, gives Steven a quick and unimpressed look up and down before he settles on Brendan with a smile so fake Brendan could get him done for fraud.

"Brendan, long time no see." He holds out a hand and Brendan shakes it, waits for him to acknowledge Steven but he doesn't.

"Charles, this is Steven, friend of Lynsey's," Brendan says pointedly and Charlie shakes his hand, gets a cool smile from Steven.

"Cheryl said you were doing well for yourself, owned a club or something?"

"Yeah, me and her, back in Chester."

"I saw that pretty ex wife of yours earlier. She's stayin' at that uppity bitch Robin's house, thank Christ she ain't bringin' her here, though."

"Aww, what happened Charlie Boy? Robin didn't wanna play with little Charlie?"

"Y'always were a smart son of a bitch, Brady," Charlie says with a sneer. "Dunno what my Lynsey saw in you."

"She had good taste in _friends._"

"Yeah? Just friends, eh? Didn't do _that_ well for yourself over there then." He's wearing the smug, self-satisfied smirk Brendan used to want to punch even as a timid nine year old.

"Actually, I did _very_ well for myself, " Brendan tells him, low and drawling. He puts a firm hand on Steven's waist. "I already introduced you to Steven."

Charlie looks down, looks between them, face turning from sneering dispassion to outright shock. Steven slings an arm around his neck and leans, acts a little more drunk than he actually is and presses a kiss into Brendan's cheek and it's hilarious. Brendan has to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

"What's the matter, Charlie?" Steven asks, broad and a little sloppy. "It's not catching, don't really work like that."

Brendan scoffs, can't hold in the bubbling laughter anymore. He turns his face into Steven's and puts a hand up to shield them while he gets it out of his system. He's about to turn back, take a mental snapshot of Charlie's shocked and offended face but he spots three people walking in through the wide, arched doorway between the lobby and the function room.

"Speaking of ex-wives," he says smoothly and Steven looks over, too. "I'll be back in a bit."

"Brendan - " Steven grinds out, voice high and appalled and he grabs Brendan's sleeve, looks at him with huge, wide eyes.

He tries not to laugh, kisses Steven quickly and croons, "it's okay, _kitten. _You can hold the fort 'til I get back," and winks, gives Steven's arse a firm smack and strides off leaving him wearing an expression like he might want to stab Brendan with a plastic buffet table fork.

He chuckles all the way to his family and when his youngest sees him he launches himself into a full pelt run. Brendan scoops him up into his arms and holds him close, takes in his soft voice, _dad! _and his ruffled hair and his posh suit. He buries his face in Padraig's neck and inhales the smell of his perfect son.

"Brendan."

"Eileen."

"Dad." Declan's as sarcastic and surly as ever. Brendan notices Eileen hasn't managed to wrangle him into a tie and gives him a smirk which he returns. "That Ste over there?"

"Umm, yeah, he's here with Amy and the kids. How you all doing?" It's one thing to flaunt Steven in front of Lysney's relatives, another to tell his kids that Steven's going to be a part of their lives for the next forever.

He and Eileen make small talk. She tells him about her sister's appendectomy and he tells her about how nana passed, not _all _the details but enough, and she strokes his arm, _I'm so sorry, Bren. I know how close you were. _

Padraig tells him about his football team, _got a trophy and everything da, _and Brendan lets it all wash over him like warm, lapping water. He points out Cheryl to Eileen, sat with Amy, kids off somewhere skidding around the dancefloor with Lysney's little cousins, and asks what she's drinking.

"Deccy, come give me a hand at the bar," he says to his eldest and Declan gives him a put upon sigh but nods.

They lean against the wood and Brendan clears his throat, tries to find his words through jittering nerves.

"You and Ste back together, then?"

He thinks for a minute he's spoken without checking in with his brain first, Declan's voice so deep now and his words so blunt he's reeling a bit. He dips his head and glances across and Declan's watching him plainly.

"How'd you know?"

"He's in Ireland," Declan says dryly, roll of his eyes.

"He might be here for Lynsey's funeral," Brendan protests. He's irrationally annoyed that Declan's stolen his thunder.

"Sure, so you're _not _back together?"

"Well - yeah - but - " he sputters and Declan rolls his eyes again. Brendan nudges him with his shoulder. "You'll strain those bloody muscles, you keep doin' that."

Declan shoves him back. "Can I have a beer?"

"That it? No - questions - or anything?"

"Yeah, can I have a beer?"

Brendan shakes his head, scoffs and can't stop the spread of a baffled smile across his face. "_One. _You can have one."

"Cheers, dad." His son's smug as hell, getting one up on him, using it to disarm him into buying him alcohol. Too much like Brendan for his own good.

He orders drinks and pays, grabs half of them while Declan gets the others. They make their way back to the table, girls chattering and he can't see Steven anywhere. They're six feet away when Declan turns to him and says softy, "I like Ste, he's alright," and Brendan does the pedestrian equivalent of an emergency stop. Declan puts the drinks down and Brendan stands in the middle of a bunch of tables and stares like a moron. Coming from his son, _alright _is practically a knighthood.

He doesn't sit down at the table, just leans against a chair and watches how Amy and his ex wife have, worryingly, become fast friends already. Padraig drinks his coke and throws things at Declan, Declan tries to ignore him with his face buried in his much more interesting phone. It's so fucking surreal he feels like he's floating in water, rocking with the waves, everything off kilter and unsteady. This is his family. It's not quite complete, though.

He catches Amy's eye and mouths, _where's Steven? _and she points to the corner and Brendan's heart lurches and sinks, replaced by gnawing dread before he pushes himself into action across the room.

Steven's sat with an old friend of Cheryl and Lynsey's. April Lowry; still as pretty as he remembers - not that it had done him any good when he'd gone out with her for four months when they were sixteen. They're laughing, chattering like old friends and he can see the mischievous glint in Steven's eye for yards away.

" - and then he just looked into my eyes and called me his guardian angel."

"Awww, that's so beautiful." April's voice is breathy and high, hands clenched together in simper.

"There you are," Brendan says through gritted teeth and a stiff grin and Steven gives him the most guileless smile like butter couldn't fucking melt.

"Brendan!" April stands, kisses his cheek carefully. "Your Ste here was just tellin' me how you two met."

"Was he now?"

_Your Ste. _Makes him shiver despite himself.

She nods enthusiastically. "Oh it's a lovely story, so romantic."

"It was, wasn't it, honey?" Steven's got the devil in him right now, revenge has never looked so fucking sexy. "How you nearly drowned and I single-handedly pulled you out of that river and brought you back to life?"

"Oh yeah, it was really special," he grinds out and Steven bites his lip and Brendan _will not _laugh at his gall, will _not _indulge him.

"Some said I was like a - what was it, Bren? A hero?"

"You're something, alright."

April looks between them, delight on her face. "Sit down, Brendan. Ste was about to tell me about that time you met David Beckham and got all jealous 'cause he hit on him. I always had a suspicion about that guy, y'know - "

* * *

His palms are cold against the smooth wood.

He leans all his body weight into it, eyes fixed down on the bronze plaque. Lynsey Nolan 28/08/85 - 29/06/12. It aches like a resonating punch through his whole body, every bone and muscle and organ. There's a picture of her in a glossy, black frame but it doesn't seem right. He can't _remember _her features or her voice or her presence. She's fading and the picture isn't a reminder, it's an accusation.

"I got a few of 'em back for you, Lyns," he says softly. "I hope you saw that, hope it tickled you a bit."

It's the very least he could do for her, the very least he owed her. Brendan was supposed to protect her and now she's in a box, frozen forever at twenty-six years old.

The room's quieter, most people gone back for an early night or upstairs in their rooms and everything's winding down. Big day tomorrow. Tomorrow they say goodbye for the last time.

"Y'okay?" Steven's soft voice touches against the side of his neck, his soft hands touching against his back and arm.

Brendan turns his face close, inches between them. He soaks up Steven's warmth and life and trembles with the grief.

"Cheryl once tangled chewing gum into Lysney's hair - " he says and chokes on it, stutters like the words are trapped but desperate to get out. "Peter fancied her, Lysney, not Cheryl, and Cheryl was jealous - she'd liked Peter for ages. She found out and just - ragged on her hair and pushes chewing gun into it. they were only twelve."

Steven breathes a laugh against his lips, slides the hand on his back up and cups his neck.

"Cheryl's Ma didn't dare send her home like that - Susan would have killed our Chez. She got out the scissors and gave her the most shocking haircut I've ever seen. She looked like an escaped mental patient for months." His voice shakes and he can see the blur in his vision, blinks it away. Steven ducks closer, pushes their noses together in a sweet caress.

They stand and Brendan lets Steven's proximity smooth his jagged edges. Steven closes the half-inch of space and kisses him once, softly. "Let's go upstairs."

Brendan exhales. Upstairs. Together. Warmth from Steven's body multiplied by a thousand. Brendan nods against him, feels strangely fragile, strangely vulnerable when Steven takes his wrist and tugs him out into the lobby. The lift comes and they lean against the back wall and it's a stretching, quiet moment, no words spoken but Brendan can't stop looking at him and Steven's gaze doesn't falter. He's lit up in the harsh white lights in here and despite the brightness of his eyes, despite his small and soft smile, Brendan can't _not _notice the dark smudges and mess of his throat.

Kissing Steven better is high on his list of priorities. He'll push healing into his skin and pull him close to sleep, erase those bruises under his eyes bit by bit, night by night.

The lift pings and Brendan holds out his hand, a little dry, a little self-deprecating, but Steven takes it, silent and amused. He leads Steven down the corridor, passes by Steven's room completely and it makes his blood start to rush, pulse kicking up in certainty, no going back now, this is it. Steven leans against the door frame while Brendan fumbles the electric lock and he sees, only in his peripheral, a little too dazed to look properly, that Steven's fiddling his bottom lip between his fingers - a sure tell of nerves.

Brendan's heart pounds.

He walks into his room, drops the key card to the dressing table, fiddles with his tie, shaking hands and weak knees. He feels like a teenage virgin all over again.

He turns and sees Steven.

He's stood beside the wardrobe doors, clenched hands by his sides, eyes fluttering, mouth parted and chest a quick rise and fall. It's like he can't believe they're here, like he can't believe they made it to this point. Brendan can't either and he needs, desperately, something to ground him, to make it real.

He steps close slowly, almost tentatively, and Steven moves the same and they meet halfway. Brendan stretches out a trembling hand and cups Steven's face and he turns into it, lips dragging across Brendan's wrist and palm, eyes falling shut and blindly reaching out, his own hands spreading against Brendan's chest. Brendan watches his face, strokes a thumb under his eyes, can't believe how beautiful he is, how surreal he is, impossible and he shouldn't even be here but here they are. Against all odds.

Brendan slides into his space, slips both his hands against Steven's neck and fingers the tie loose until he can pull it out of its knot. Steven watches him, soft curve to his mouth, whilst Brendan pushes his jacket over his shoulders and Steven lets it drop to the floor with a whispered rumple. He reaches back up and works Brendan's shirt buttons out of their holes, angles up to catch Brendan's lips in a kiss that he trails down over the scratch of his jaw, across his Adam's Apple, into the dip of his throat, follows the path of skin he's baring, and Brendan shivers under the soft focus. He's had Steven's attention for so long now and he feels it, feels the physical weight of all that adoration.

He shrugs out of the shirt, cups Steven's jaw and brings him up, arches against the hand Steven presses against the hardening length of his covered dick, arousal throbbing deep inside him like a resonating ache, something more than just sex, something huge and almost painful, too bright to catch a glimpse of. He pulls at Steven's buttons, kisses him wide open and slick and touches the skin, smooth and warm, across his shoulders and the dip at the base of his spine, his sides and stomach, everywhere he can.

He's spent so long looking, so much wasted time when he could have been doing this and he pushes that urgency, that apology into every touch.

Steven tugs at him and they make a path across the carpet, shoes off, zips and buttons dealt with, and Brendan gives him a small shove at the edge of the bed, sends him sprawling backwards against the green sheet with a surprised laugh. He tucks his thumbs inside his waistband and Steven sits up, hands spanning his hips, and presses his lips against Brendan's stomach, dips his tongue into Brendan's belly button and makes him squirm and chuff a laugh, glances up at him with a pleased little smile, private and all theirs.

He nuzzles his lips and nose downwards through his coarse hair and over the front of his boxers, presses the wet flat of his tongue against the material over his erection and soaks it through, sucks and nips and it's not enough, he's doing this to torture him, Brendan fucking knows he is, until he hooks a finger into the elastic and pulls, drags down everything until Brendan can kick his way out of the rest of his clothes, until he's completely naked and stood like he's awaiting divine judgement, stripped completely raw in front of a man for the second time in his life - not the man that made him and twisted that creation, though, not like the first time. Steven's the man that he trusts; he heals and restores what his father bent and broke.

Steven presses his hand across his mouth, touches fingertips to his lips, looks up at Brendan, the entire length of his body, like he's everything and Brendan threads a hand into his hair, strokes him softly, tries a smile that feels slippery on his face. He dips low and catches Steven's mouth again, crawls over him onto his hands and knees until he shuffles back up the pillows and Brendan can push him down into the mattress and lick deeper. He wrestles Steven out of his trousers and boxers, kneels up between his spread thighs and pulls him out one leg at a time.

He looks from his vantage point, takes in long inches of bare, glorious skin, Steven's dick curved up against his stomach, flushed with blood and hard for him, Steven's eyes, bright and focused. His fingers twitch and he takes hold, Steven's body arching, every muscle straining towards him, and he strokes the soft skin up and down and plays his fingers across the head teasingly.

"Bren - "

He chuckles. "What?"

"Stop being a tease, you git. D'you know how long I've been waitin' for this?"

"Tell me." He's meant to sound playful, carry on the joke, but his words come out rough and desperate.

"Brendan - " Brendan slows his hand, lessens his grip, and Steven groans. "Months. Ever since I tried to kiss you that time."

It's a shock and he swallows, stares. "That was summer."

"I know," Steven huffs impatiently like he hasn't just kind of rocked Brendan's world.

Christ, the urge to ask a million questions is actually outweighing his need to fuck the boy. What's happening to him?

"What changed?"

Steven looks at him, _really _looks at him, and his gaze softens. He sits up, legs splayed to either side of Brendan's kneeling body still, and touches his palms to Brendan's stomach, grounds him in the sensation. "You did. You didn't take advantage."

"So you wanted to sleep with me because I displayed basic human decency?" he asks dryly and Steven huffs a sigh, rolls his eyes.

"You manage to suck the romance out of everything, you," he says through a smile. "It wasn't just that, you were just different. I remembered - " He stops and looks flushed, does a quiet, dopey little laugh like he's bashful. Brendan studies his face, fascinated because half the time he never knows what's going to come out of Steven's mouth and he _loves _that; most people are predictable and Steven has never been that. "I remembered why I feel in love with you in the first place."

It makes him feel giddy and lit up and he touches Steven's jaw, feels a fond smile curve his mouth which he slides over Steven's eagerly to swallow up his sweet words. Steven cups his hands around his neck and pulls him close and mumbles against him, "now, are you gonna get in me or what?"

Brendan laughs into Steven's mouth - now who's sucking out the romance. "I am _definitely_ gonna get in you."

They fall back against the bed, Brendan's weight smothering Steven's body, he's a big guy but Steven's never had any trouble taking him on, and he shivers at the drag of his dick against the skin of Steven's stomach. He hooks a hand under Steven's knee and bends it up over his hip, grinds him against the mattress and takes in his muffled cry at the friction. It's an intoxicating, slow slip-slide of their rolling bodies, slick dance of tongues and mingling hot breath. Steven's hands tangle in his hair and scratch across his back like he's scrabbling to grab onto something.

Brendan rolls them, wants to feel Steven's weight against him, wants to feel how alive his body is. Steven spreads his legs over Brendan's hips without breaking the kiss and Brendan can properly get his hands on all that skin above him, can stroke his back and sides, scrape his nails through the hair on his thighs, dip his fingertips into the cleft of his arse and rub against his hole. Steven grinds against him, angles his hips until his hard length pushes up against Brendan's cock and rubs them together, slow and grazing. Brendan uses every bit of the strength in his arms to press Steven closer, make the friction more solid.

Steven breaks away from his mouth, breath gasping out of him, muscles tense and body finely trembling. "Hold onto me," he says and Brendan just manages to grip him tightly round his middle before he throws himself sideways over the side of the bed. "Just - a minute - 'ang on - " He's rummaging in the bag on the floor and Brendan's the only thing stopping him falling head first onto the carpet.

Brendan helps pull him back up and Steven grins at him, kind of dark, kind of predatory. He's got a bottle of lube in his hand and Brendan takes it, uncaps it and squirts a puddle into his hand to warm. Steven watches him do it with rap attention, leans over Brendan's body, hands braced against the mattress at either side of his head. Brendan reaches back with both hands, holds Steven open and rubs his fingers back against the tight ring of muscle and he sees Stevens bruised throat bob when he works the tip of one inside.

"You okay?"

Steven nods. "It's just been a while."

The admission thrills him. Brendan was the first and now he's the first in a long time. He slides his finger in all the way, so fucking tight he can't believe, and frees up his other hand to cup Steven's face and pull their foreheads together, feels Steven go heavy against him, using his body as a solid support.

Brendan fucks him open slowly and drags a thumb over Steven's parted lips in time, proximity hot and intimate. Steven starts to relax and Brendan works another finger into him, feels him give and stretch. He keeps it slow, rubs and massages until Steven's moving with him against the in and out, until his breath is panting out against Brendan's face. He feels the vestiges of Steven's control slip away, feels him throw himself completely into Brendan's hands, at his mercy, for him to take them wherever he sees fit. It's like surrender. The trust there is blinding.

He doesn't know what he wants to do to him first, it's overwhelming and intoxicating like an all you can eat buffet. He's greedy and his eyes are bigger than his belly.

"Brendan - "

"Yeah, I got you."

Steven doesn't even have to tell him what he needs, he knows it instinctively. He's ready.

Brendan rolls them again, gets Steven on his back, grabs the lube and slicks himself up. He levers up onto one hand against the bed, uses his other hand to position and guide until Steven's muscles give way and let him in. The first clinging grip around him pulls words out of his throat, high and soft _ah _and _oh my God _that Steven reacts to with words of his own, Brendan's name on a breath.

He slides all the way home and the arm under him shakes. Steven's so hot and tight around him, almost unbearable the way his body swallows Brendan up like he'll never get away. He lowers his weight in the space between Steven's spread thighs, elbows sinking into the mattress at Steven's shoulders, just needs a minute before he can support himself. He leans their foreheads together again and breathes, takes Steven's breathing in return, brushes their parted lips together.

Last person he did this with - he doesn't want to think about it. All he can see are the differences and that's what's important. He's had men before Steven and he's had men since but he's never had - _will_ never have this with anyone else. He's Steven's first in a lot of ways but Steven's his first in just as many. His last, too.

The intensity of it starts to choke him and he moves, inches out of Steven's body slowly and pushes back in, just a lazy roll of their hips together that has Steven's legs locking behind his back to tug him closer. He keeps it slow, keeps the close and dragging rhythm, feels the sweat slick between their bodies. Steven arches under him to meet Brendan's hips and they move like fluid together, perfectly timed give and take.

Steven's hands wonder over his back and shoulders, fingers tightly pressing into his skin. He's making the most beautiful, helpless little sounds on every ragged exhale like his voice isn't contained properly, like it's leaking out. Brendan feels swollen and ready to burst, can't hold back any more, skittering sparks thrumming under his flesh, energy building. He pushes up onto his hands, gets his knees under his body for leverage, and pushes hard and deep.

"Oh my - _God - _Bren - " Steven's head falls back, elegant arch of his throat on display, and he chokes out words, begs for Brendan to fuck him with his voice and body.

Brendan eagerly obliges. He puts all his strength behind his thrusts, angles up and gives Steven what they both want. He cries out _ah _and _right there _until it becomes a mindless, helpless litany like a melody through Brendan's brain. He's lost in it, the tight friction around his cock, growing pressure building and spreading, Steven's body bucking under him, his hands slipping against the damp skin of Brendan's shoulders.

"Stop - " He does, instantly. Even through the pleasure-haze he can't ignore that word and he freezes, cold fear leeching through him like he's doused in it. "No, no - " Steven stutters, must see the look on his face. "I'm close - I don't wanna come - want it to last - "

Brendan breathes out, long and relieved. He presses close, craves warmth, and Steven kisses him, wet and open and reassuring. Brendan slumps his weight, pushes his hips, slow and shallow, tiny sparks across his nerves because he can't stay completely still when Steven's gripping him so perfectly, so much like he was made for Brendan.

They kiss and move together like the tide and he calms down, feels the crashing peak of his orgasm ebbing back. He grips Steven's thigh, pulls him close and rolls them, drags Steven back on top of him and sits up with Steven seated in his lap. He presses his fingers into Steven's back to press them breathlessly close, drags his lips and tongue across his throat when Steven tips back his head heavily, Steven's hands tangled in his hair and guiding the path of his mouth as he rocks his hips, slow back and forth.

He uses Brendan's body as leverage, plants one palm against Brendan's slightly bent knee to balance his weight and cups a hand around the back of his neck, and rides him, shallow at first and then building, deeper and faster, rolling his hips in Brendan's lap as Brendan clings to him and buries his face against Steven's throat, mouth open to taste the skin under his lips. He holds himself firm to give Steven support but he can't move, can't do a damn thing except _feel _his cock swallowed up over and over by tight, gripping heat, helpless to the onslaught of it.

Everything's surrounded by Steven, smell and taste and touch and sight; he's suffocating on him, gorging himself full to bursting, can't believe how powerful it is, thought they couldn't _get _anymore necessary to each other. He was wrong. He feels like Steven's chipping away every bit of ruin and corruption, smoothing and polishing him into something new, something that's worth the weight of the price he's paid.

Heat and pure force shocks through him like galvanism and he's so close to that edge. He circles his arms around Steven solidly and flips him over onto his back, slides his palms up Steven's arms while he's still flustered, drags his hands up the bed and tangles their fingers together above his head, pins him down with his weight.

"I wanna look at you when you come," he says on a rough breath, mirrors Steven's words from the balcony. "Wanna watch what I do to you."

"Oh, God - _please, _Brendan - "

"Please what?" he asks but he's not trying to make Steven beg, although that _is _lovely. He wants Steven to take _everything_ from him, everything he wants. He loves to hear Steven vocalise his desires because he's so confident in them, gives Brendan confidence like Steven's his mouthpiece, like he allows Brendan to be _okay _about what he feels and wants in return.

"Please make me come," Steven whispers and it's a plea and a desperate demand.

Brendan can feel Stevens entire body tense and trembling under his own, he's wound up so tight, right at the edge of his nerves. Brendan gazes down at him, fixed and focused like there's nothing else on the planet as fascinating, and draws the length of him out of Steven's body almost all the way. Steven's heel presses into his back urgently, his other leg sprawled, bent, on the bed at Brendan's side like he hasn't the will to hold it up. He arches and whimpers and huffs at Brendan in sheer impatience and he wants to draw it out until Steven can't even do that but he's not sure he has the control to hold himself back.

He slides back into Steven's body in one smooth stroke, tries a different angle until an involuntary sob tears out of Steven's throat. He keeps it steady and reigns in every ounce of his will, presses Steven's hands into the mattress and fucks him, hard and firm but slow and measured. He hammers the sensitive spot inside Steven's body on every sure thrust, feels the intensity build through Steven's tensing muscles as well as his own like he can feel them both climbing together, symbiosis again. He's shaking with the deliberation, doesn't strain for it but lets it grow and grow, layer upon layer that he _feels _acutely.

His vision starts to go bright, his ears ringing. Steven's begging under him, arching and desperate, almost sobbing with how bad he wants Brendan to take him over the edge; he's almost incoherent. Brendan watches him, watches that light grow and grow and then Steven flings his head back, body arching into a tight bow, every muscle in his body seizing. He comes across both their chests and stomachs and Brendan fucks him through it, keeps the pace through the fluttering, clenching muscles around his cock and holds on so fucking tight until the end. It lasts and lasts, Steven crying out and shaking like he just can't come down. Brendan's driven him somewhere inescapable and he's not going to last the return journey.

It's too much, Steven's pleasure is too beautiful, too heavy, he's too lost in his parted mouth and broken voice and velvet heat. Brendan buries his face against Steven's still-bruised throat and comes. His hips stutter against his rhythm and he's erratic, can't control it anymore, just riding it out as best he can into Steven's body. He's half blind with the force of it, can't believe the noises he's making into Steven's skin, strangled sobs and half choked off moans. It goes on forever, the release of all that pressure, hot and boiling over and screaming out of him like escaping steam.

He comes to slowly, vaguely feels his hearing float back in, smells the musky smell of spunk and sex, realises bit by bit he's not actually blind and limbless. Steven's body's caught under him and Brendan's probably hurting him, all his weight slumped, and he never means to but here they are; he knows now that Steven can and will take it gladly.

There's hands stroking across his sweat-slick back, fingers pressing lightly into the dips of his spine. Steven's caressing him like something precious and fragile and he hasn't got the energy to feel anything but grateful.

He breathes in the soft silence, heart rate and blood pressure returning to something like normal. His mind wanders, catches on fragments of conversation, on months worth of longing looks and barely held-back concern, liquid blue eyes, always watching him, waiting for something Brendan hadn't ever thought he'd be ready for.

"A year," Brendan says, muffles into Steven's throat where he's still buried.

"What?"

Brendan shifts, uncomfortable feeling of his softening length slipping from Steven's body. He rolls to the bed in a graceless flop, pulls a pillow under his head and stretches out on his side.

"You said you'd been waitin' months. I've waited a year. Well - " He thinks back, does some quick mental arithmetic in his muzzy brain. "Seventeen months - ish. Year and a bit." Steven blinks at him, slow and thoughtful. "I meant what I said, I never stopped lovin' you. I just wished I could, didn't know how to handle it so I cut you out and just - tried not to think about it."

"What changed?" Steven asks in an echo, same conversation but in reverse.

"Like you said - I did," he replies, completes the circuit. "After Lysney, feeling that - loss, that fear, the possibility of losing you or Cheryl. Stuff like that just makes everything really clear."

"Why didn't you kiss me when I tried it on?"

Brendan doesn't think out or plan his answer, doesn't want it to be half-measured or held back. "I knew what I was doin', goading you, y'know? Like I used to. Then you actually went for it. I wanted it to work and then when it did I just thought, _what the fuck are you doing?_ Your head was such a mess and it just hit me that I couldn't do that to you. I didn't want it from you just 'cause I _could _have it - I wanted _you _to want it as much as I did. It was a bit like been slapped with a brick."

Steven chuffs a laugh. "Well, thanks. I wouldn't 'ave minded that much if you'd just kissed me back and y'know - bent me over the desk, but it's nice to know you can be a gentleman."

"I'm a perfect gentleman. I'll bend you over my desk any time you want, Steven."

"Yeah you will." Steven says it through a lovely smirk and Brendan shuffles close, kisses his sly mouth.

"In fact - " Brendan sits up and swings himself off the side of the bed, heads to the cupboard and flings it open and finds what he's after.

Steven watches him with amusement as he stands at the foot of the bed, grips the corners of the duvet, the disgusting, damp, come-soaked duvet, and drags it right out from under his sprawled body. He tosses it into a corner, grabs the spare from the wardrobe and makes the bed while Steven guffaws his loud and dopey laugh.

He goes to the door and flicks off the big light, only the glow of the moon and the garden below shimmering in through the still open curtains. He pulls up an edge on the duvet and throws himself back down on the mattress underneath it. Steven rolls onto his side and Brendan pulls him close, can see his adoring smile through the pale glow.

"Told you. Gentleman," Brendan says softly and Steven kisses him, slow and sweet slide of his tongue in his mouth.

"Sleep tight, Brendan," he whispers, snuggles close, head heavy on Brendan's chest and Brendan wraps him up tightly in his arms, feels drowsy already.

Steven's safe and warm and close, Brendan can see him and smell him, can touch his skin and feel the living flutter of his strong heart. There's a whole, cold and corrupted world outside this room and Brendan feels, maybe for the first time, that protecting Steven from it is something he's actually capable of. If Steven can sleep in his arms, can drift off uninterrupted by visions of blood and knives and death, then this is Brendan's place.

"Think I will, tonight."


	16. i'd sing a song that would be just ours

Notes: I know the wait on this has been a long one and thanks everyone for the amazing reviews and also the lovely messages and support over on Tumblr even though I've been dragging my feet like crazy. You are all awesome and I honestly dunno what I'd do without you. This is probably the hardest thing I've ever had to write. It's also long as BALLS.

Title and lyrics from the song Another Love by Tom Odell (utterly stunning song that I badly recommend and that might make you cry).

Warnings: Graphic conversations concerning childhood sexual abuse.

Word Count ~ 11,000

* * *

_and if somebody hurts you, yeah I want to fight,  
but my hand's been broken one too many times  
and I want to cry I want to learn to love,  
but all my tears have been used up. _

The first thing Ste notices is - he's warm.

It's followed slowly by the realisation that he's slept through the night which is then followed by the memories of _why._

There's sunlight streaming in through the still open curtains and he opens his eyes right into it and promptly shuts them but not before he sees Brendan's hand curled into the mattress right in front of his chin. Ste's laid half on his front and Brendan's plastered across his side and back, one leg pushed up between both of Ste's own, one foot hooked around one of his ankles and his arm thrown over his body like a shield against the world. He can feel Brendan's stubble against his shoulder, the puff of his breath against his skin.

He's still sleepy, can feel that heavy pull of sinking like gentle pressure, and he sighs, nuzzles his nose against Brendan's hand until he gets his face hidden under his palm to protect his eyes from the sunlight.

He's off again in seconds.

* * *

The second time he wakes up it's to a different sort of heat.

He's on his back and there's a weight between his thighs and damp suction against the skin over his ribs. Ste moves his arms, leaden and lazy with sleep, and threads his slow fingers through soft hair. Brendan peers up at him, bottom lip and tongue still touching his body, mouth open and wet and he _knows_ where this is going.

Brendan rubs his stubble back and forth and Ste breathes a laugh, watches as Brendan walks two fingers down his stomach, over his hip and beneath his balls. Brendan looks at him with mischief in his eyes as he rubs those fingers against Ste's hole and slips inside his body, still loose, still slick, and Brendan makes a noise, a low and pleased little moan of approval. Ste's dick fills, hardens between his own stomach and Brendan's chest and the friction of Brendan's hair makes him shiver.

Brendan smiles and drops his eyes, drags his soft lips back across Ste's stomach, fingers him slowly and presses up firm, sure and measured rub of fingertips to make his toes curl against the mattress. Ste sinks into the sensation, enjoys the attentive focus Brendan lavishes on his body, feels precious and worshipped because nobody has ever touched him like Brendan has, nobody has ever made him feel the weight of two people's entire existence through the act of sex.

Brendan kisses and laps against his skin, nuzzles Ste's hip with his nose and the tickle of hair from his moustache, cushion-soft press of lips into the dip between his hip and thigh, soft suction across and Brendan strokes the flat of his tongue against Ste's balls, takes one in his mouth and rolls and wets and makes Ste throw his head back into the pillows. He knows from experience that Brendan will do this forever if Ste lets him, fucking oral fetish eight miles long, so he pulls at Brendan's hair gently, makes a slightly pathetic little noise in the back of his throat that gets the vibration of a dark chuckle reverberating through his entire pelvis like a shockwave.

He also knows from experience that Brendan loves to torture him.

There's warmth and wetness against the base of his dick, long, slow lick of Brendan's tongue up and down the length of him, teasing little flicks at the head but the low, heavy thrust of fingers deep inside and it makes him crazy, makes his skin itch and tingle and he's arching his hips of the bed until Brendan's laying one bent arm low across his stomach and fucking smirking, innocently fluttering eyelashes and bright gaze.

Brendan tuts and shakes his head like he's calling Ste impatient without words and Ste's chest heaves and falls and he's too heavy, too puddled into a liquid mess to really do a damn thing. The touch inside him is relentless and Brendan watches him with dark eyes, mouth sucking wet kisses against the skin of his cock gently, taking the head between his lips and sucking lightly, inch of slow up and down that's light as air. His muscles tremble and start to strain, building pressure blooming from somewhere deep and spreading out like running heat, pushing through his limbs and taking control from his oxygen deprived brain.

He's right at the edge, stone's throw from falling over but it's not enough; Brendan's clever fingers and too-smart mouth keep him hovering, Brendan reads him too well, knows how best to draw it out until Ste's about to honest-to-God kick him in the back of the head and maybe Brendan knows _that _too because he's suddenly going down on Ste's cock, taking him in right to the base, sucking and licking, wet and hot and friction, and he fucks Ste with his fingers, rough and hard and perfect.

He comes with blinding suddenness, free-falling out of control and possibly screaming, he's not sure. Every single nerve ending in his possession sparks and ignites and he's vaguely aware he's clawing at Brendan's neck and shoulders, arching up because Brendan's letting him now, letting Ste thrust up into his willing mouth until he's ridden out the last of his orgasm.

He sinks back to the bed, completely loose and sprawled like a cat in the sun. He can't open his eyes or actually speak and Brendan's kissing a path up his body, his chest and neck and it takes him a whole minute to realise that Brendan's pressing his lips against his bruises over and over and so gentle he hardly dares breathe. It's suddenly like all the air has been sucked out of the room. This is Brendan and him, Ste and _Brendan. _They're together and Ste nearly died and Brendan nearly watched and now they're _here_ and Brendan's kissing his bruises, kissing the wounds that almost killed him.

He cups Brendan's neck, cradles him close, wraps his legs around Brendan's hips and Brendan's so light, so fragile against him. He pushes and Brendan moves with him and Ste gets him back against the mattress, legs spread over Brendan's hips and body curled over him protectively. Brendan's hands flatten over his back, almost cover the entire width of his body, and Ste kisses him open, licks inside his mouth and reaches back to position Brendan's cock until he can push back, one smooth slide until he's seated in Brendan's lap, skin to skin.

Brendan gasps into his mouth and cups his face and Ste rolls his hips, grips Brendan's hands and slides them against the mattress and pins him there, curls their fingers together to have something solid to push against as he rides Brendan slowly. It still feels unbelievable, nerves inside him still sensitive and tingling, and watching Brendan fall apart underneath him is mesmerising and he can't look away. Brendan does, turns his head and buries his face against the arm Ste's got pinned, mouths against his skin and bites down like he needs something to ground him. He's losing control and Ste's a witness to it and it's fucking beautiful.

"Steven - " he breathes on a broken sigh and it's the first word spoken all morning and this _isn't_ a dream, this _isn't_ a memory. It's real and solid and theirs and it hits him like a sack of flour.

He feels Brendan jerk and tense and Ste rides him through it, grinds down close and takes every inch of him to the base, kisses the corner of his mouth, his jaw and underneath his ear and he whispers against Brendan's skin, "I love you," and Brendan chokes out a desperate cry, a shattered _oh, God, _and Ste feels the force of his orgasm rattle through him, punch out of him like a shout.

He soothes Brendan down, strokes the fluttering pulse in his wrist, pets his hair and kisses him, feels a surge of protectiveness so powerful it shakes him a bit because Brendan's always been vulnerable after sex and it's always tugged at something in him but now, the differences in him, the things Ste knows, that instinct is in overdrive.

"I thought you'd never wake up," Brendan says eventually.

Ste folds his arms across Brendan's chest and rests his chin against them, against his torn up wrists, still sore but in a way he's used to. "I slept well."

"Yeah, so did I. You're like my Nytol or something."

"Night nurse," Ste scoffs and laughs. "Got a thing for a bloke in uniform."

"We talkin' scrubs or we talkin' full on dress and white heels?"

"Nuh, heels, obviously." Brendan laughs and pushes him, dumps him over onto the bed and Ste bounces and then cringes, searches around for something to wipe up the mess they've made and settles on one of Brendan's t-shirts that's crumpled on the carpet over the side of the bed.

Brendan bitches at him in complete, utter offence and Ste darts out of the way of his grabby hands and threatens to drop the sticky garment onto his head if he doesn't stop. Brendan wrestles him down, drags him bodily off the bed by his hands and up into his arms and kisses him, doesn't stop as he shuffles Ste into the bathroom and drops him to his feet in the walk-in shower - _since you wanna get clean, let's do it the normal, non-disgusting way._

Ste's giddy as hell, can't stop splashing Brendan in the face with shower water he collects in his cupped hands. Brendan plays resigned patience but Ste can see that he's loving it, loves backing him against the tiles and holding him close, slippery wet and warm. He's in a weird enough mood that he doesn't feel the least touch of embarrassment when he asks Brendan if he can wash his hair, _all of it, _and Brendan doubles over laughing, slips against the floor and ends up sprawled back against one wall.

He chokes out, "you're ridiculous," and Ste hums, wraps his arms around Brendan's neck and goads him.

"Come on, it'll feel really good."

Ste gets his own way and tries hard not to think _as usual _and the thrill it sends up his spine that Brendan's so hard and cold and rock solid against almost everyone in the world but so soft with _him_.

He gets shampoo and lathers up his hands and stands close, bodies pressed together, scrubs his fingers through Brendan's hair and against the back of his neck and Brendan lets him, shivers and sighs into his touch and gets goosebumps across his skin. Ste can take in all of him like this, can touch endless skin and muscle with his hands and eyes and he manoeuvres Brendan under the shower spray, watches water sluice off him as he tips his head back, works the lather out of his hair with one hand and strokes his other across Brendan's chest and stomach, rakes his fingers through the dark hair there as well and Brendan outright proves him one-hundred percent right by actually _moaning _shamelesslyand fuck if his dick's not trying to get hard all over again at _that_.

Brendan dries up and offers to go next door and fetch him some clothes to change into from his room because he's not ready to get out from under the spray of the power shower just yet. He's gone ages and Ste's full on coloured pink when he hears him come back with a slam of the door and he gets out, wraps himself up in a towel to investigate. His bag's on the bed, looks full as well like Brendan's actually done his packing for him, and Brendan's grinning at him. Ste stands in the bathroom doorway feeling dopey until Brendan comes close and kisses him, pushes past him then pops his toothbrush in the little glass next to the sink.

"Moving me in?" Ste asks through a smile that he _cannot _control.

"It's a big step, I know. Brought you breakfast, too, 'cause basically - I'm amazing," Brendan croons and kisses him again up against the bathroom doorframe.

He has as well, there's two styrofoam cups and a bag on the little table in the corner of the room. The radio's on and Brendan's folded their suits from last night and slung them over the dressing table chair and Ste feels a bit like he's dreaming , head still all over the place and slow to process that he's _allowed _to feel good about this, they _deserve _to after everything. He's so used to the anger and confusion and disappointment that immediately follows every good thing between them that he's mentally bracing himself but then -

- then he watches Brendan shrug off his coat, watches him take the cups out of the holder, watches him move about _their _room with easy grace, and it's never been more obvious that Brendan isn't running away anymore and never will again. Last night he'd pressed two years worth of lost time into Ste's skin and sealed it there with a lifetime of promises.

They end up sprawled across the bed, Brendan propped up against a thousand pillows at his back and Ste laid with his head on Brendan's thigh and his legs thrown up in the air against the headboard and wall at Brendan's back, munching on chocolate chip muffins and drinking sweet coffee to the sound of the radio and their lazy chatter.

Brendan grows quiet and Ste asks him, "you okay?" and Brendan strokes a hand through his hair, idly fiddles it between his fingers.

"It's gonna be a rough day."

He slips a hand under the soft material of Brendan's white t-shirt and splays it across his belly. "Yeah, well, it's supposed to be, innit? You're allowed to struggle today."

"Yeah."

"Bren, you're gonna be great."

"I said yeah, didn't I? I'm like a Buddhist monk, totally zen."

Ste senses he wants to change the subject so he scoffs. "Pretty sure Buddhist monks don't do what you've done to me in this bed."

"I'm a rebel," Brendan says with a little growl.

"Yeah, I dunno how you're gonna explain that one to Buddha."

"Have you seen Buddha? He's always half naked, he loves it."

"Can't you lot end up in Hell or summat for talkin' about Buddha on the day of a funeral?"

"_You lot? _What am I an alien?"

"You know what I mean."

"You'll be _one of us _soon as well, y'know."

Ste laughs but Brendan doesn't and he feels it drop of his face. "What?"

"If you're gonna be shacking up with a Catholic you have to convert, didn't anyone ever tell you that?" Brendan asks, totally serious, eyes wide and earnest.

"Wha - no! Is that - seriously?" he splutters, voice embarrassingly high-pitched and Brendan nods at him. Ste can count the number of times he's stepped foot in a church on one hand. He's never even owned a bible. "Well - how do I do it?"

"Don't worry, it's only a little ceremony. They just cut your penis a bit, that's all."

He's faintly horrified for all of five seconds, so much so that he can't even speak, but then some semblance of sense pokes through and he realises Brendan's mouth is quivering with the tension of trying not to smile.

"You're such a dick," he strops and shoves at Brendan's leg, gives him a sharp slap on his tummy, sounds like a whip cracking and there's a bright red hand print against his pale skin until his t-shirt falls back over it.

Brendan's laughing so hard he can't catch the breath to even protest. "Ow - you actually - I can't - "

"_Dick,_" and it just makes him laugh harder and start to cough while Ste glares at him.

He calms down just enough to blurt out, "if anyone was standing outside the door just then, that'd sound like the weirdest dirty talk ever," and then he's off laughing and choking again. "Dick - just - just that, just _dick._"

Ste watches Brendan laugh and concedes he can probably let this one go, just this once. He'll do whatever it takes to make this day easier even if it makes him look like a complete tool.

"Cut my bloody penis - genuinely was about to dump you on the spot," he says and Brendan makes a scoffing, snorting noise in the back of his throat.

"You wouldn't do that for me?"

Ste pretends to consider it. "How big a cut we talkin'?"

"Tiny one, might sting a bit. It's okay though, they baptise it afterwards," Brendan says and grins.

"Yeah, alright. I'd do it. _For you._"

Brendan smile turns smug, today's worries momentarily forgotten. He gives Ste a wink, says _yeah you would _and Ste shoves him in the side of the face with his ankle, tries to poke him with his toe and Brendan bats at his leg like a cat batting at a ball of string.

He calls Ste ridiculous, _again,_ and Ste calls him kitten, _again,_ and there's a murderer baying for his blood, _their _blood, the blood they share now, and he was fucking _kidnapped _the other week and today they bury Lynsey but right now, here with Brendan, none of that stuff can touch him.

* * *

Cheryl comes for them close to lunchtime and Brendan sends her packing.

They don't leave the room at all, this soft and hazy little bubble they've created, safety and warmth and just them, shut away from the rest of the world like Ste could stay here forever. Later, Brendan phones Cheryl to bring them up some sandwiches and she actually does, albeit looking like she'd like to bash their heads together but still. Ste manages almost all his lunch and on top of the fact he ate breakfast he's actually feeling pretty proud of his stomach.

He knows Brendan is as well, he's been watching Ste carefully with food for a while now even though he thinks Ste hasn't noticed, and he doesn't overtly show it but he makes a million jokes about Ste's appetite and _I wonder what could be using up all your energy? _and Ste can tell how relieved he is.

They have to be at the church for two and they dress together. It's strange and domestic and Brendan's got a black shirt and a white shirt and he _asks _Ste which he thinks is better, "black, you look gorgeous in all black," and he does up Brendan's buttons, strokes his knuckles up the skin of his stomach and chest because Brendan's getting quiet again. He's all soft and hewn down and big, wide, blue eyes like he gets when he doesn't really know how to process what he's feeling but he doesn't want to hide it either. Ste touches his neck, says, "yeah, you'll do," and Brendan dips his head and kisses his fingers.

Ste stands in front of the mirror and fiddles with his tie and Brendan comes up behind him, grips his shoulders and turns him, takes the edge of the tie between his fingers and slides it off slowly.

"Like you better without," he murmurs softly and flicks open Ste's top buttons, presses a line of soft kisses against the dip beneath his throat.

"It's not your funeral, though, is it?"

"Lysney wouldn't like it."

"And how d'you know that, eh?"

"She told me one time."

"Really."

"Yup. Said she liked this bit in particular - " Brendan murmurs and touches his collarbone.

He looks into Brendan's face, the way he's holding himself together, the way he hasn't stopped touching Ste all day, subconscious need for reassurance maybe, maybe just because he can, they've always touched each other easily even when they weren't allowed, and says, "well, owt I can do to make Lysney's day better," and it gets him Brendan's hand stroking across his shoulder and the fond, slow sweep of his eyelashes.

Cheryl comes a third time, barges her way in when Ste answers the door to her frantic knocking and she's flustered and upset, doesn't think she looks right in her black suit. Ste's inclined to agree and then Brendan voices it, "it's not you, Chez," like he's Gok Wan today or something. She nods, rushes off, and it's half one, they're going to be late but when she comes back, red lipstick and flowers on her dress and in her hair, Brendan tells her she looks perfect and he's right.

Ste fetches Amy and the kids and Brendan wrangles them all downstairs and out to the car. He sits in the back, Lucas on his knee, and tells him and Leah where they're going, tells them they're saying goodbye to a very important friend and they have to be on their best behaviour. Brendan catches his eye in the rearview mirror and Ste holds his gaze.

It's a bright day, clear and cool, sun shining and breeze starting to pick up, whipping the fallen leaves into swirling eddies of red and orange. The church yard is autumn-blushed, dance of light through the gold turning yew trees across solid grey and black headstones, the engraved names and dates and _here lies _and _rest in peace._

It's busy, Lynsey's friends and family milling around and waiting for the hearse to arrive.

Ste keeps hold of Lucas, some compulsion to keep him close, sense of loss and grief thick in the air. They find Eileen and the boys and Brendan stands with his hand against the back of Padraig's neck, same closeness, same compulsion.

"You okay, Ames?"

She's staring out across the graveyard and she jumps when Ste says her name, smiles at him, tired and stiff. "I'm fine."

"Bren, could you just watch the kids for a minute?"

"Ste - "

"We're just gonna go for a walk, won't be long."

Brendan nods, takes a bored and sleepy Lucas from his arms, looks concerned but Ste gives him a reassuring smile. He puts an arm through Amy's and pulls her away, takes the path through the stones that leads around the side of the church building.

"Ste, I told you - "

"No, come on. You never let _me_ get away with _I'm fine_. What's goin' on?"

She sighs and goes quiet and Ste reads the names as they pass by, Jennifer Finch, age twenty-four, Jonathan Loughborough, age fifty-nine.

Eventually she says, "just thinkin' about Sarah," and he threads his fingers through hers and grips her tightly. "Murdered. Just like Lynsey. Just like Rae. Just like you nearly were."

"I know."

"I'm tired of losin' people."

"You'll never lose me, Ames."

She looks across at him. "What if they don't catch Walker before we have to go back?"

Ste's heart kicks up instantly like Walker's name's flicked a switch. He hasn't dared think too much about the village, about his _home, _the place he was drugged and taken and beaten. It's over a week before they fly back and it's like he can't see past it, too foggy and impenetrable, far off in the distance just like everything else that's happening to him.

"I don't know."

"Ste, that's not good enough. I don't think they'll catch him, I honestly don't."

He shivers and goes cold because - nor does he. "Amy, it's not worth thinkin' about now, okay? We've got all today to get through yet, let's just - focus on the funeral?"

"Lucas!" Ste turns at the sound of Brendan's voice and he's just in time to see his giggling son dash past himself and Amy, crashing between gravestones with Brendan stood at the top of the path with his arms out in frustration. "I ain't chasing you, I'm tellin' you - "

"Come on," Lucas shouts, half ducking behind Elizabeth Lloyd, aged eighty-seven.

Brendan breaks in seconds, trudges up the path towards them and he makes a duck around the stone but Lucas is too fast, darts out of his reach and speeds off back up to the front. Amy laughs and Brendan sighs and Ste goes after him but someone else gets there first; an old bloke wearing a smart waistcoat, slicked back hair and salt and pepper beard. He picks up Ste's son and speaks in a low, gravelly voice, "hey there, mischief."

Ste's instantly on edge, hot bolt of anger through him at this guy's fucking nerve. "Err, d'you mind?" He storms up and drags Lucas out of the man's arms, gives him a frown and holds his son close. "I don't even know you."

"Don't have to get rude, son," the guy says, drawling and cold and he looks Ste up and down, smirk in place that makes his skin crawl. "Name's Seamus."

He holds a hand out but Ste's frozen, arms locking around Lucas tightly, blood turned to crystals of ice, too thick to pump through his veins anymore and he can't breathe from the lack of oxygen to his brain. Waves of cold sickness blast against his exposed skin, this man just fucking _touched _his son.

This man fucking _touched _the man that Ste loves.

Something like hours passes in silence, sheer stretching and boundless horror and utter paralysing shock, _what is he doing here, how could they not have prepared for this, this is him, this is the monster that hurt_ - and he claws his way back to himself, thinks _Brendan _and it's like a smack to the face the way it clears his head.

Ste jerks, breathes a shaking, stuttered breath, looks briefly into Seamus' eyes but Seamus isn't looking at Ste. He's gazing over Ste's shoulder and he turns and sees Brendan, drip white and still as a rabbit in headlights.

He's looking down at the ground, expression of shame and fear, far away like he's gone somewhere else entirely.

Ste has to do something, has to diffuse this before Brendan comes back to himself to find his father's eyes studying him like a half-dissected animal in a lab. What he _wants_ to do is scream in this fucker's face, call him sick, phone the police, get his hands around Seamus' skull and smash him against a headstone so he can understand what it means to be at someone else's mercy. Anger rolls through him like hot, molten lead. It glows and burns like embers, tries to curl around his bones and muscles and take charge of his body and he _wants _to let it, wants to finally give into all the anxiety and helpless anger from the past two weeks that he's tamped down on and crushed underneath his delirious but too-brief happiness, wants to take all the regret and pain and fear from the last _two_ _years _and the scars it's left on him and gouge every bit of it under Seamus' skin where it rightfully belongs.

This man has already taken so much from him and he's not getting another piece, not while Ste sill breathes.

"You're Brendan's dad, he's mentioned you," Ste says loudly, turns back to Seamus and takes his hand firmly, pulls on his attention.

Seamus looks back at him and smiles, smooth and charming. "Good things I hope?"

He feels his top lip curl. "If you're lookin' for Cheryl she's round the front."

"Ah, I was. Thank you - "

"Ste."

"Steven," Seamus says and pats his shoulder and Ste shudders and pulls out of his grasp, hears Brendan exhale roughly behind him. "Not gonna come give your old man a hug, Brendan?"

Ste turns again and sees Amy, half in front of Brendan now, frown fixed on her face. Between them it's like they've made a barrier to shield Brendan from his father's presence. Amy doesn't know much about Brendan's past but she knows enough and she isn't stupid, she can blatantly see the state he's in.

"Da' - " Brendan breathes, swallows thickly and can't seem to muster up anymore words.

"Come on, let's go find the others," Amy speaks up. "There'll be wonderin' where we've got to. Come 'ere baby." She tries to take Lucas from Ste's arms and he hesitates, unconscious action of clinging to his son. Amy frowns and he tries to give her a look, slants his eyes to Seamus and she shakes her head and he repeats in his head _she's not stupid. _He mouths _thank you_ and she puts a hand on Seamus to steer him away and round the front.

He waits until they disappear.

"Bren - " Ste rushes forward, sees Brendan break before he gets to him and can't seem to move fast enough, like trying to run in a dream. Brendan brings the back of his knuckles up against his mouth, whirls around like he's looking for something, a way out maybe, and Ste grips his shoulders as he chokes on a sob. "Brendan, look at me." Brendan's body shakes under his hands but he looks and Ste can tell he isn't back yet, he's still in that place, caught in those memories. Seamus triggered the trap and now Brendan's tangled, helplessly, in his net. He cups Brendan's neck, strokes his thumbs across his trembling mouth. "It's okay, he's not 'ere now, it's just you and me, Brendan, just us."

Brendan's gaze fixes and clears like a focusing camera lens and he grips his hands around Ste's wrists. "I'm okay, I'm okay - I just didn't expect - I didn't know - "

"Well, how could you 'ave?"

"Yeah, yeah - "

"What d'you wanna do, Brendan?"

"What?" Brendan asks him, voice high and soft, looks at him desperately.

"Whatever you wanna do right now, we'll do it. You wanna go into that church or just get in the car and drive far away from here, whatever it is, Bren, I am with you."

Brendan's eyes fall shut and his head tips forward and Ste leans into the bow of his body, feels Brendan's arms come up around his middle and his fingers dig into the small of his back. He nuzzles his nose against Brendan's and feels the breath on his face when he whispers, "I wanna say goodbye to Lynsey."

"Then that's what we'll do."

"He can't know about - " Brendan chokes on the words but Ste gets it, feels so cold at the thought of hiding what they've worked so fucking hard for, something they should be proud of, but it's the injustice of it that makes him angry, the fact that it's just another thing Seamus will twist and shame over, not Brendan's decision.

"What d'you want me to do, stay away?"

Brendan speaks before he's oven got the words fully out, digs his fingers in harder, _clings _to him, "no, no don't leave me," and Ste shushes him, strokes his fingers across Brendan's throat and the hair at the nap of his neck.

"I won't, I promise," he says urgently, pulls back to catch Brendan's eyes and make him _see. _"Don't worry about it, leave it with me. I just want you to focus on Lysney today, okay? I'll take care of everything else, I mean it." Brendan nods against him and Ste asks, "do you trust me?"

"More than anyone," he breathes in reply and Ste pulls him close, runs his hands up and down Brendan's back.

He gives Brendan a few minutes to pull himself together before he murmurs, "come on, we should go round. Don't want him comin' back and seeing," and Brendan's got his mask in place, as fragile as it looks.

They walk the path and it leads them back to the crowd of milling bodies. Ste sees Seamus immediately, stood with his and Brendan's family like he's suddenly a part of it and he already feels like they're outsiders. When they get close Seamus is quick to spot them.

"There's my boy," he says brightly and Brendan leans into Ste ever-so-slightly, shoulders pressing together. "It's a sad day for a reunion, that's for sure, but having my family back together - well, it's been too long."

"Isn't it wonderful, Bren?" Cheryl speaks in a breathy voice, high and girlish and grating. She looks delighted, bright eyes and watery smile. "Daddy being here for us when we need him the most?"

"Yeah, s'great - "

"Well, I heard about Lysney and how could I stay away? She was a good girl."

Seamus dips his head, expression instantly changing into perfectly placed mourning and Ste's watching him closely enough to see how easy it is for him to just switch out one emotion for another, whatever's applicable to the situation at hand, whatever he thinks people expect to see. Ste _knows _that talent, recognises it for the clever lie it is; he used to look into the face of it every day when his mother needed money or wine or a human shield.

The whole feeling of the little group they've created changes with him like Seamus is already puppet master to their emotions.

Except Brendan. Brendan's hardly with them at all.

The hearse pulls up and it gets everyone's attention, reason they're all here and nobody can look away from the shiny, wooden box. Lysney's family shoulder its burden and it's too heavy for her father, he starts to crumble under the weight, and Cheryl darts forward and takes it from him, Brendan patting Eoghan on the shoulder to go after him as he picks up the corner next to her.

Ste feels himself swell and go warm with pride.

They follow in the procession and Ste's so focused on getting Leah in line he's not really paying attention to much else. It's only when Padraig's high voice rings out, "okay, Grandad," hesitant and a little shy, that Ste whirls around, sees Seamus holding out a hand with him to walk.

"Paddy," he calls out sharply, panic shooting up through his spine. "Come 'ere a sec, would you? I need your help with summat."

"He's walkin' with his Grandad, ain't you Padraig?" Seamus says in a drawl, eyes on Ste and cold focus making his skin prickle.

Padraig doesn't _know _his Grandad all that well and that much is clear. He doesn't know Ste that well either but they've spent the past day in each other's company and he laughs easily when Ste tries to make him, talks easily when Ste asks him questions.

"It's just that our Leah's decided she's too cool to walk with her dad, wants to walk with you, Paddy," he lies smoothly, casual as you like, and Seamus narrows his eyes further.

Padraig grins and looks delighted, loves Leah already, instantly took her under his nine year old protection yesterday, dancing and skidding her all round the dancefloor last night. He rushes forward and takes her hand and joins the line, leaves Ste alone at the back with Brendan's father.

"Well isn't that sweet," Seamus says with a smile that unnerves him because that's the intention. "She's got him wrapped around her little finger, already." He can't talk about his kids, Brendan's kids, _any _kids, with this man; not if he wants to keep his cool, not if he wants to keep his mouth shut and his fists to himself. So he says nothing, just walks. It doesn't deter Seamus, though. "Lovely family you've got, by the way."

"Thanks."

"Cheryl tells me you're staying in Dublin with them?"

"That's right."

"You and your sweet Amy must be good friends of my boy, then?"

Ste thinks, he's not _your _boy, not anymore, but he grits his teeth, grinds out, "we are."

"Chatty wee thing you, aren't you?"

Ste turns his head, sees the goading on Seamus face, hears it in his voice.

"Very chatty," Ste tells him softly. "Just depends who I'm chattin' to." He stops walking right outside the huge double doors of the church and Seamus stops, too. He gives Ste a small sneer, just a tiny curl to his top lip, bright and assessing eyes locked on his own like they're in a battle of wills. Ste holds out one hand, gestures to the doorway, and gives Seamus a smile of his own. "After you."

He clearly doesn't want to go through, quick and hot flash of anger across his features, Ste's caught him off guard and his mask has slipped, but can't not and they both know it.

"Very polite of you, son."

"That's me."

Ste tenses as Seamus throws a shoulder into him on his way past, spins and watches him walk over the threshold of the church and half expects him to burst into flames or something.

He doesn't.

Unfortunately.

Inside he's assaulted by the smell of incense and dust and wood, huge echoing space filled with hushed, murmuring voices. His kids are sat in a pew already, all four of them bookended between Amy and Eileen and he breathes a sigh of relief as Seamus presses in next to Brendan's ex wife, leaving Ste to sit at the end of the row, reason why he'd directed Seamus go inside first.

The bearers put the coffin on the stand and Ste watches Brendan palm the top of it, disappear into the words on the plaque at the front while the others sit across the front pew. Ste wants nothing more than to go to him, to bring him back, but he settles for a loud cough instead, gets Brendan shaking his head and looking over, clearly embarrassed at such a public display of weakness, especially in front of his father.

He comes down the aisle and slides in next to Ste and he feels instantly calmer, didn't realise how tightly wound up he was until he feels Brendan's weight against his side, didn't realise he was holding his breath until he could breathe the smell of him and his aftershave again.

All he can do is make a barrier here between Brendan and his father, press his leg against Brendan's to remind him he isn't going anywhere, and when Cheryl stutters and falls during her speech and Brendan stands and talks about shelter and surviving, he can't do a damn thing to stop Seamus eyes cutting a scouring path right across Ste's body and into his son like he intends to wound.

* * *

By the time they get back to the hotel it's starting to rain.

The sky's painted grey with thick and swollen, rolling clouds, and there's the first spatters of water against the car windscreen as Brendan pulls them up close to the lobby door.

Ste's got Lucas on his lap to make room for their extra passenger, has watched Seamus in the front seat the whole ride back, leaning across the gear stick and spewing poison into Brendan's ear. He's watched Brendan's hands turn white-knuckled on the steering wheel, watched the colour drain out of his face in the rearview mirror, and he'd fucking _tried _to stop this, tried to pawn Seamus off into the back but he hadn't been able to, not without making some huge, weird scene.

The whole drive is torture and he's never felt more useless, more impotent in his entire life.

Brendan tells them to head inside, he's going to park up, he'll be a minute, and they get out under the awning in front of the hotel front door, Amy herding Leah and Lucas inside before they get a chance to see all the puddles. There's other cars here, everyone coming back all at once, Lysney's friends and family making a dash through the falling rain across the car park.

Ste hears the tires squeal when Brendan pulls out and the whole thing sounds as angry as he feels.

They deal with getting sat down, getting the drinks in, getting the kids sandwiches from the buffet table, nothing for Ste thanks, he doesn't think his stomach could handle anything solid right now, settles on vodka instead, thinks he's probably going to need it.

He gets tenser and tenser as time passes.

They're all there, Seamus included, sat around one of the big round tables, and he can't see Brendan anywhere.

"He's probably having trouble parking, love, it's pissing it down out there," Cheryl tells him when he ducks over her, asks softly in her ear so nobody else hears.

He calls and it rings to answer phone twice. He texts _Where are you? Worried here x _but ten minutes pass and he doesn't get a reply so he texts again _I'm serious, stop being a dick and phone me x _and still - nothing. Seamus downs pints like he's engaging a competition, calls Cheryl his little princess, Ste's skin crawling the whole time, and kisses her head, hands locked together on the table. There's conversation and it flows around him like he's in a silent bubble, everyone's voices muffled and meaningless, not even really words just mangled vowels and consonants rubbing together, grating against his over-sensitive nerve endings.

"Ste, aren't you gonna eat something?" Amy's voice is close to him, snaps him out of his haze.

"Brendan's not back yet," he tells her softly, head close to hers.

"Well - it's been a long day. Maybe he's just getting air, clearing his head?"

"Yeah, but - " he halts, doesn't know how to finish that sentence.

"Ste, don't worry. He _is _a grown up," she says with a small smile, nudges him with her elbow. "He might just need some time on his own."

Ste sighs and nods and tries not to dwell, tries to be pragmatic, something he rarely is when it comes to Brendan. Brendan's reckless and impulsive, especially when he's upset, and Ste doesn't like the thought of him on his own right now but Amy's right, he isn't a child.

He puts a time frame on it, mentally gives Brendan another fourty five minutes before he'll let himself wind up properly, tries to look interested when Cheryl and Eileen regale him with tales from the past, drunken nights out they had together with Lynsey in Belfast, Cheryl flashing her tits to a police officer once, legging it across the front of the Lagan Lookout Centre and climbing the big fish statue to get away from him.

"She fell right off, right on top of the copper and fractured her ankle," Eileen tells them, bright and laughing. "She was handcuffed to the hospital bed for two hours before Brendan came and sorted it all out."

Ste can feel Seamus eyes on him the whole time, isn't surprised when he slurs, "where is that son of mine, anyway?"

"Probably just needs some time on his own, dun't he? After today."

"Probably? You mean you don't know where he is?" Cheryl asks loudly and Ste shakes his head, hopes to Christ she's not about to make a scene. "Have you phoned him?"

"Yeah - "

"And!?"

"He's not pickin' up, Chez, I'm sure he's - "

"Oh, well isn't that just typical? Today's supposed to about Lysney and my brother goes and pulls one of his attention seeking disappearing acts again." She's already had a couple of glasses of wine and she's getting herself worked up, steadily rising pressure until Ste's hope of _no scenes _flies straight out the patio doors.

"Just like Brendan, this. Always finding some way to ruin everyone else's mood," Seamus adds nastily, eyes _still _locked on Ste like he's waiting for a reaction, purposefully pushing his buttons, and it works; Ste slams a hand against the table top and stands up so hard his chair falls back.

"Ey'are, it's been a rough day for him, alright?" he finds himself half-yelling and now it's _him _making the scene, doesn't even remember deciding to stand up in the first place, that part of him that acts without thinking taking over, especially sensitive when it comes to Brendan, always has been.

"Oh well _poor Brendan. _As usual, doesn't realise it's been a hard day for all of us_,_" Cheryl scoffs. "Don't see me vanishing off and making people worry about me, do you?"

"Well I didn't see you worrying much about him until Seamus brought it up, anyway, Chez," he fires back, hot all over, sweat pricking across the back of his neck.

"Ste." Amy's stood with him, hand gripping his arm, Cheryl glaring daggers and gearing up for another assault.

Seamus stands as well, absolute glee painted across his features but voice pitched low, all fucking fake when he spits out, "you mind your tone when you're talking to my baby girl, _boy. _I don't see how _our _family much concerns you, anyway."

The whole table falls silent, every eye on Ste, watching, waiting to see what he's going to do, what he's going to say. Even Cheryl's anger vanishes, turns quickly to wide-eyed apprehension. They _know _about him and Brendan and it's obvious they know Seamus doesn't and nobody has a fucking clue how to handle this situation.

Ste takes a deep breath through his nose, balls his hands into fists and grinds out, "I'm a concerned friend, that's all."

He's about to move, about to turn away and go somewhere, anywhere but here, feels like he's fucking suffocating, dizzy and itchy and hot like he's been out dehydrating in the sun too long, but Seamus already _knows _he's about to leave and he says, quick and whip-crack sharp, "think you should go away and clear your head, boy, calm yourself down before you come around my family again," and Ste freezes, can't take his eyes off that cruel and delighted _smirk, _Seamus getting him back for earlier, cleverly undermining him in front of every single person around the table.

Ste can feel his mouth tremble with the effort of not screaming, can feel his hands shake and his legs tense, wants nothing more than to get his fingers curled under the table edge and flip the fucking thing over, _really _leave them with something to talk about, but he doesn't. He feels Amy squeeze his shoulder and it brings him back enough to silently walk away in the knowledge he looks like a scolded schoolboy being asked to leave the dinner table.

He strides through the lobby, takes the stairs down to reception in one jump, thrilling crash of the solid floor up through his legs, something real and hard and painful. It's lashing down outside, darkening sky and cool, whipping wind, and he stands under the awning, pulls his phone out and leaves Brendan a message.

"I don't care how much you might need to be on your own right now, Brendan; I _need _you to come back, I _need _you to phone me, just fuckin' - _please, _Brendan, I'm goin' mad 'ere, all I can see is you in a fuckin' _ditch_ somewhere, please - " he chokes on his begging words, feels his chest heave, and he hangs up the phone, half wants to throw it against the concrete under his feet and watch the metal smash into a million pieces.

The ground lurches and he staggers over to one of the supporting, stone pillars, leans heavy against it and tries to catch his breath. All that anxiety he thought he'd laid to rest with Brendan's kisses in the twinkling light of the garden surges up like a rising wave, crashes through his carefully constructed walls in a fraction of the time it's taken him to build them back up. His foundation feels shaky, the earth beneath it trembling like the beginning of something devastating.

He's hyper-aware and the second his phone goes off, vibrates in his hand, he answers.

"Brendan?" but there's no reply, just silence. He looks at the screen, _unknown number, _and brings it back. "Brendan, can you hear me? _Brendan - _" and then nothing, the call goes dead. He fumbles with it in his shaking hand, finds Brendan's number and presses call but it rings and rings and _rings _until it hits voice mail again and he wants to scream, frustration and now actual, outright fear.

There's nothing to do except wait and he isn't, has _never_ been, a patient man. The fingers of his right hand go slippery with something thick and hot and wet and he knows he should stop picking at his scars, his wrists have barely started healing, but he can't help it, finds the low ache of it and the image of Brendan getting angry with him satisfying, finds it calming and mind-numbing enough to make time pass faster.

He considers going back inside, making nice with Cheryl, guilty for yelling at her today of all days, but his phone goes off again before he can even stand up straight, incoming call _Brendan _and he nearly drops it in relief.

"Where are you?"

"Steven - "

"_Where are you, Brendan?"_

"Up the road, by the - by the park at the top."

He's seen it on their drives past, fenced off children's play area and sprawling woods and fields out behind it, and he starts walking immediately, right out into the cool and relentless spray of rain, tells Brendan, "I'm coming," and breaks into a jog.

The road curves up into a slight hill and he rushes up it, can see the looming structure of the six-foot chain link fence and _finally_, like a fucking mirage appearing on the horizon, Brendan.

He's soaked to his skin, pale as a ghost, eyes red-rimmed and Ste pockets his phone and runs to him, skids to a halt almost on top of him, takes Brendan's face in his hands and flicks his eyes over every inch for blood, bruises, something, sees the knuckles of his right hand are grazed and cut.

"Stupid! How could you just wander off - " He hits Brendan's chest, hard, hard enough to make him cough out a breath, " - where've you _been -_ what 'ave you done to yourself - I was worried sick - " He's rambling, laying all his fear over Brendan's shoulders and it's not fair but he can't stop, needs Brendan to fucking see that this isn't just _his _problem anymore, it belongs to both of them now. He's touching Brendan all over, his shoulders and neck and sides, his scraped knuckles, _still _talking, " - you don't have to do this on your own, not anymore, I wanna help, I _want _you to let me - " and he's said those words before, on his knees in Brendan's kitchen with his entire world crashing down around him and here they are, all over again.

Brendan can't even look him in the eye, gazes everywhere but, breathes heavy and brings his hands up and tries to pry Ste off him, tries to squirm out of his furious grip but Ste won't let him get away, can't, not now.

"Steven, get off me - " he demands over and over, rough and low but he _can't._

"No - " He can't let Brendan sink in on himself, can't let him close down and shut Ste out all over again. "Look at me, Brendan - "

"Get off!" Brendan screams, pushes him away violently and Ste staggers back at least four feet, completely off balance, and Brendan comes at him, furious and focused with his fist clenched tight and raised and Ste's frozen in shock, can't process what he's seeing.

Everything condenses into an infinite point of time, lashing rain halting in the air in front of his face, waving ripples in the puddles under his feet going still like pretty sculptures, and what he should feel is fear but it's not that, he isn't afraid of Brendan; instead his shock turns to anger, cold and solid like an ice block.

"_Don't you dare_," he grinds out furiously and time _snaps_ back to normal with the crash of falling water and Brendan's expression turning instantly to horror.

He looks at Ste with wide eyes, fist still raised, before he crumples into devastation, whirls around and embeds his already cut up knuckles into the concrete fence support at his side, once, twice, before Ste's moving without a thought, gripping Brendan again, getting between him and the damage he's doing to himself, fucking _hurling_ himself into the path of Brendan's red-hot rage even though two seconds ago it had been aimed at him.

He's insane, fucking tapped in the head, but even now, even after everything, he doesn't care.

"Stop it!" he shouts for the fifth or sixth time, wrestles Brendan away from the support, shoves him back and throws himself across Brendan's body, tries to pin his struggling arms, get some kind of grip on him solid enough to make him just _see. "_Brendan - I said _look at me,_" and finally he does, _finally _he goes still, still straining against Ste's hands on his neck but he's not fighting anymore, not looking away, just looking at Ste like a terrified little boy.

"You have to get away from me, Steven," Brendan whispers, high and soft.

"Never, I am _never _leaving you, okay?"

"And what happens next time I hit you?"

"You won't."

"I nearly - "

"But you didn't. You're _better_ than that, now."

"I'm just like him."

Ste's grim and furious, wishes he couldn't believe what he was hearing but unfortunately he knows how that feeling runs. "You are _nothing _like him. If you were anything like him how could I love you? You need to trust _me, _Brendan, because I _know _you and you're not your dad, you never could be."

Brendan sobs, chokes a strangled, gasping, _devastating _sound, and half collapses, curls in on himself and against Ste's body. His arms come up and cling at Ste's back and Ste cups his neck, kisses him desperately, presses his lips against Brendan's cheeks and lips and jaw and pulls him close, tangles fingers in his sopping wet hair and just holds on for dear life to the most fragile thing he's ever touched.

Brendan shivers in his arms, cries the most broken noises into his throat, cries like Ste's never heard him cry before and he almost drowns under the outpouring of so many years worth of emotion and agony. Ste rocks them, mutters words against Brendan's hairline, _I love you, I'm not goin' anywhere, we'll get through this, I promise you, I promise, _and the force of Brendan's devastation tries so hard to take them down, tries so hard to rattle apart the foundation of what they've tried so hard to build, to send it breaking and crumbling to the ground, razed and demolished.

Ste makes himself steady and holds them together and hopes his waning strength will be enough to survive the blows.

* * *

After however long they've spent in the rain, the warmth of the lobby is almost painful.

Ste dries his hand on one of the reception chairs and fumbles his phone in his frozen fingers, texts Amy to tell the others they're okay, he's found Brendan, they're having an early night, oh, and by the way don't mention to Seamus that they're a couple. He trusts her to deal with whatever shit they've caused even if he does feel guilty as hell about dumping all this on her shoulders.

Brendan's silent and energy sapped, soft and pliable when Ste pulls him to the lift, and it's so jarring after what happened outside, so jarring to see Brendan reduced like this, submissive and silent and his whole presence muffled like someone's shoved him into a box and sealed down the lid.

It scares Ste to death.

He presses for their floor and rubs Brendan's cold hands between his own as they ascend, the only reaction he gets Brendan's eyes fixed on him unwaveringly like he's afraid to look away, afraid Ste might vanish if he does.

He doesn't ask if Brendan's okay, they've never needed empty platitudes, instead he wrangles Brendan into their room and locks them in safe and tight where the world outside can't touch them. Ste presses close, slides off Brendan's sopping wet jacket, unbuttons his shirt and trousers and strips the wet clothes away from his cold skin and Brendan lets him do all of it like he hasn't the energy to fight anymore. He goes to fetch towels from the bathroom and clean, comfortable clothes from the cupboard and strips out of his own stuff on his way, relief at getting the sticking, heavy weight of the material off his body, and tosses the lot into the corner of the bathroom where he'll deal with them later.

Brendan's hair spikes up into fluffy tufts when Ste rubs the towel over him and he cracks the smallest smile, a tiny, fragile and broken thing, so precarious but so beautiful for it, and Ste kisses him softly, just reassurance. When he's satisfied they're both dry enough he tosses the towels near the radiator, gets a wry little eye-roll from Brendan for his messiness, narrowest crack for the light to shine through, to let Ste know he's still there and still with him.

He's half into his t-shirt when his phone beeps at him from the dressing table and he goes to it while Brendan dresses and collapses to the bed like his strings have been cut. He has a message and two missed calls, Amy and Unknown Number again.

"It's Amy, she's told everyone we're okay."

Brendan nods, asks hoarsely, "my Da?"

"Drunk, apparently."

"Sounds right."

"He doesn't know."

At least - Ste doesn't know _how _he could know if he _does._

"I don't even care."

He knows that isn't true but Brendan's exhausted, dull behind the eyes and sagging against his hands in the mattress.

"Lie down, I'll get the light," he says softly and heads to flick the switch.

The room isn't completely dark, there's lights from the garden downstairs shimmering through the balcony doors, sparking off the rain droplets drizzling down the glass and spreading silver and white across the bed where Brendan's laid watching him, shining off the blue of his eyes as Ste crawls in and curls up against his side.

Brendan turns his head across the pillow towards him and Ste spreads a palm flat on his t-shirt covered stomach, peace and stillness descending over them, everything faint, grey-washed and calm like a world apart from the rest of the Universe.

"Wanna talk?"

His question's met with silence but he can see Brendan considering him through the faint light. Eventually he speaks, soft and high and breathy, "I loved him so much." Ste's breath catches in his throat and he digs his fingers against Brendan's body, presses into him. "Even - even after he started - started doing it - I loved him. Just wanted to make him happy. Nothing I ever did was good enough but that - _that_ I couldn't get wrong - I was good for him, then. Always have been. Always been good at that, if nothing else."

Good at that, good at sex.

Ste feels sick, nausea rolling through his stomach and chest, can feel Seamus' taint covering everything it touches. It doesn't always hit home, the things that happened to Brendan, not until he really _thinks _about it, but Brendan carries this with him day in, day out and Ste's only just getting a taste of what that feels like.

"That and hurtin' people."

"That's not all you are, Brendan. If that was true I wouldn't be 'ere right now."

Brendan shakes his head back and forth across the pillow. "He took everything, Steven."

"He didn't take away the things that I love," he tells Brendan softly.

"I'm not normal."

"What he did to you doesn't say one thing about you, just about him, just about how sick _he _is."

Brendan considers that, too. "Doesn't matter, though. It's what he's left of me. I can't get away from it, it's always _there, _always stuck in my head on repeat."

"Tell me," Ste says gently, rubs his fingers across Brendan's stomach."Please."

"I was eight," Brendan tells him after a thoughtful silence, voice barely a whisper, and his gaze shifts past Ste and out into the sky through the balcony doors. "Hadn't even met my baby sister, yet. It was spring, during the holidays. I remember because - 'cause he took me out for the day and we got ice-cream. Said it was a treat and - and he was so nice to me that day; thought all my dreams were comin' true, y'know? My ma put me to bed but I couldn't sleep, still too happy, still too excited, me and my dad spending time together, the way he'd looked at me - like, for once, he was _pleased _that I was his boy. I got out a book - it was - it - "

Brendan stutters around his words and Ste slips a leg over him, curls it in between Brendan's own, presses closer against the side of him and kisses the top of his arm.

"It was Roald Dahl - loved Roald Dahl," he says and smiles, faraway and shaky. "Danny, the Champion of the World. I didn't even get far - my da came up. Thought he was gonna tell me to switch off my light and go to sleep but - but that's not what he wanted." Brendan's face scrunches up and he brings a hand up across his mouth, bites on the pad of his thumb and fixes his eyes on Ste so suddenly he startles and when he speaks next it's in a blurred, rush of breath, "I mean he _did -_ he - he wanted me to switch out my light, always wanted it to be dark, he didn't like to look at me, not at my face, anyway, he just liked me to be really still and - and really quiet, always had to be quiet even though it _hurt, _it was so hard to stay quiet but we couldn't let ma find out about our little secret, sssshhh - she wouldn't like it - she wouldn't have under - understood - "

"Brendan," Ste whispers in the dark, cups the side of Brendan's face gently, feels the weight of sheer horror _inside _him, cold, toxic poison of it through his veins.

"Danny was such a brave kid but - but I couldn't be, not like him. Couldn't read Roald Dahl again, not even to my boys." He breathes a shaky, choking laugh. "Took that from me, too."

"You're still 'ere, aren't you? After everything? You're the bravest man I know, Brendan."

"No, I'm not," Brendan murmurs with a small smile. "You're just brave enough for the both of us."

Ste's heart aches, every muscle and nerve in his body straining out to Brendan like even this, even touching him, being pressed against him like this, isn't enough. He wants to open Brendan up and crawl inside and seal himself inside his skin and even then - it _still_ wouldn't be close enough. If the strength of this feeling isn't enough to carry them through this then there's no hope for them because what Ste feels right now, in this bed, in the hazy, silver twilight, in this warm and open and still moment, is so earth-shatteringly powerful, so real and _alive, _that he can't hold it all to himself.

Brendan's this slight and half-broken, half-_fixed _thing against him, this tortured and half-destroyed man Ste wants to push the weight of everything he is into, wants to write down, in black and white, all the ways Brendan is good and bright and worth the world to Ste so he can't ignore it. He doesn't have the words to do it, though. No words will ever be enough.

"I wish you could see what I see," he says but what he means is _one day I'll make you see._

He cups Brendan's neck and drags him close, slides a hand underneath the pillows and pulls him flush against his body. Brendan's arms come up around his waist and he tucks his head under Ste's chin and Ste strokes his hair, kisses the top of his head and even though Brendan's huge he just _fits _in Ste's arms like this, like it's the easiest thing in the world.

They stay like that in the quiet dark and Brendan eventually goes loose against him, breath evening out, slow and deep. Ste feels it before it happens, feels the shivers start in the base of his spine before curling and winding up his back, down his arms and legs and right into his fingertips. His eyes sting and his mouth trembles and he strains every muscle to stop his entire body from shaking so hard it wakes up the man in his arms.

The room is still and grey-washed and safe but Ste breaks its perfect silence, presses his lips against Brendan's hair and cries.


End file.
